Seeker's Prayer
by dtill359
Summary: Princess Mariposa, heir to the ancient line of Guardiana lies in stasis on the planet Phantom, trapped beneath the watchful eyes of the evil Sentinels as she awaits the arrival of those trustworthy enough to see her home. On the other side of the galaxy, her mother searches for her, ready to give up anything to find her daughter again. AU. "The Sands of Time Are Sinking", Book 3.5
1. Prologue

**Prologue**

"Lord Skaldart."

A woman's voice echoed through a vast, dark hall, lingering in corners and seeping into cracks. The only light came from scattered lamps.

"Yes, Sada."

The reply rumbled back from the far end of the hall, and two glowing, red eyes cracked open.

"We need more fuel for the reactors," Sada said, her light footsteps barely touching the floor as she approached her ruler's shadowed throne.

Skaldart stood up, the screech of shifting metal ringing with his every movement. "We are too old for this, Sada," he hissed.

The woman reached out to Skaldart. He took her hand and with a shaky step came to lean on her intact frame. She winced but held up under his weight.

"There are few enough of us left," Sada said, her metal arm creaking as Skaldart took another lurching step.

They passed a lamp. Its yellow light made the ruler's bluish skin appear a sickly green and sent Sada's pearly skin orange. Skaldart winced and held up a hand to shield his face from the light.

"What are the prospects?" he asked.

Sada tapped a spot just above her ear. A list appeared in her field of vision. "Kyrhal – out near Andromeda-space, Meridian near the mother-world, Iscandar-Gamilon of Sanzar, and Prydane, on the other side of Cygnus."

"Send out General Meldars' _Goruba_ and instruct him to take Meridian first, then report the world's yield. We will decide which source to mine next after that," Skaldart instructed.

Sada quickly composed and sent the order.

Skaldart dragged along, his aging body betraying him as Sada guided him through an unmarked door. The sounds of whirring machines and clanking parts filled the room.

Skaldart took a seat inside an alcove. "Begin," he said.

Sada watched in fascinated horror as several mechanical arms deconstructed the ruler's torso. His chest plate peeled back to reveal a cavern filled, not with organic matter, but metal parts. The only living thing within his chest was his pulsing heart – though it too was wearing out.

The maintenance machine pulled out worn pieces and replaced them with newer ones. Next, Skaldart's damaged leg was ripped away, causing the abused wiring to spark and sputter. He never batted an eye as the machine replaced the limb and wired it into his frame.

Sada shuddered as she thought of the day she would have to undergo her next significant overhaul. She looked down at her hands – covered with synthetic flesh. Both her arms were bionic as well as her legs. Her spinal column was only recently replaced as age had worn it down and caused it to fragment, but she still had over half of her organic body. Skaldart… was only a heart and a head now.

With the repair work done, Skaldart stood under his own power and motioned for Sada to follow him. He left the maintenance bay and turned left, away from the throne room.

Sada went after him.

" _Dezaria_ groans in agony." Skaldart's footsteps echoed in the dark halls. "Her time is coming."

Sadness rose in Sada. "But she has many years yet."

"Perhaps," Skaldart allowed, "But not so many as we'd first hoped. The reactors' fuel consumption has increased by twenty percent in the past hundred years. At that rate we won't be able to keep them operational without consuming entire galaxies."

"And the core?" Sada asked.

"Intact," Skaldart replied. "The corruption is spreading, but much of the information has been transferred to independent systems.

The walls creaked and both Dezarians stopped short. The plates beneath their feet wailed and groaned but fell silent a few seconds later.

"We must make haste to the mother-world," Sada said. "There we can ensure _Dezaria'_ s knowledge is not lost, and what remains of our people will live out their days in peace."

"Guardiana is too far from here." Skaldart hung his head in defeat. " _Dezaria_ is… past the point of warp travel. Even now her disturbed systems have great consequences. A storm swirls around us, hiding this place in shadow."

"Then evacuate – let everyone make it to Guardiana in their own time –"

"Many would not survive such a journey without constant maintenance," Skaldart interrupted. "We are an ancient people, Sada. Too ancient. Grandmother Seda, for whom you are named, was wise, but she was not all-knowing. The spirit of Diana graced us with the knowledge of such enhancements as these." He flexed his mechanical hand. "Those Hadassian fools rejected her gift. Even the Ibrahemics took some of what she had to offer. But now, as our bodies weaken, we must accomplish one last task." He gazed intently into Sada's eyes. "You know of what I speak."

Sada nodded. "Yes, lord."

"Amass the remaining Autoplanets. Make sure they are ready to strike when the time comes."

Sada bowed. "It will be so."


	2. Chapter 1: No Man's Land

**Chapter 1: No Man's Land**

Dara eyed her instruments. The fuel gauge hovered just above the red-line. She groaned and checked her nav computer. There was one inhabited planet less than three days away. She wasn't familiar with it, but the information she had suggested a lively trade center.

Setting the auto-nav, she shuffled back to her cramped quarters at the rear of the ship.

The tiny space was barely definable as a room. With a short bed, jutting out from one wall and single chair, it was hardly luxurious. Dara sank down onto the bed and laid her bag down to pillow her head. She tugged off her boots, taking out the knife she kept sheathed on one of them and tucking it under her pack.

She lay down with a sigh and closed her weary eyes.

"Constance…" she whispered sadly as she drifted off. "Neshamah sheli*…"

* * *

When the port authority didn't question her shaky credentials, Dara raised an eyebrow, but didn't protest. She docked without incident, noting, as she descended through the atmosphere, the mishmash of ship designs. Some were Gamilon, like hers; others hailed from the Bolar worlds, or the Cometine frontier. She even spied a few Iscandarian designs – rare and valuable now that the race was nearly dead.

Dara secured her ship, turning on every security precaution she could find before she set out into the nearby city, looking for the closest market.

When she found it, she bit back a hiss of disgust. The streets were paved with packed dirt. Open stalls lined the narrow paths, making her feel closed in. She kept her currency tucked into the front of her shirt, where she was sure it wouldn't be pilfered.

In addition to the stalls, each street housed several shops, but they weren't organized. She came upon a meat vendor hawking his wares right in front of a livestock dealer's corral. The smell was overwhelming. She covered her mouth and nose and skirted past.

On the next street over, several children, faces covered in what Dara hoped was mud, tore down the street laughing, chased by an angry merchant shaking his fist in the air.

She stepped to the side of the street, looked up into the sky, and then tapped a tiny disc affixed behind her ear. A holographic interface appeared, displaying the time, weather, and a map of this block and the next two. It was close to midday, and just looking at the temperature made her sweat even more. The map would have been a wonderful asset, if it weren't for the lack of names.

With a sigh, she tapped the disc again, banishing the hologram. She took a moment to look around. The smell on this street wasn't as bad as the last, making it easier to concentrate. Back the way she'd come, she spied a cookware merchant, banging on a pot to stir up attention. Up ahead, milled a group of men and women, hauling purchases on hover-carts. A few were tailed by robots. The androids didn't speak as they carried their owner's burdens and Dara marveled at the fine craftsmanship represented in each one.

Just ahead of the group of customers, Dara spied the first objective on her list. She slipped through the crowd and into the cramped shop. The sign outside was posted in five languages, three of which she could read.

Her heart skipped a beat as she pulled out her broken holomask, careful to keep it hidden from prying eyes. She took another look at it, then tucked it away.

On the far wall, a series of small boxes hung, filled with tiny components.

Dara fished through one box after another until she found the pieces she needed. Presenting them to the shopkeeper, she paid and left.

Just one more thing to find, and she could be on her way.

The sun sank low on the horizon and merchants began clearing out for the day.

Just when she thought she would have to return tomorrow, Dara stumbled upon an old man, a patch over one eye, and a scar tracing his left arm. He stared at her as she approached.

"In the market for a ship, are we?" he asked, voice gruff.

"Maybe," Dara replied carefully. "I don't know if you have what I want."

"Have a look for yourself." The dealer brought up a holocatalog.

Dara scrolled through the images, seeing several promising options, but most of them were priced exorbitantly high. "What about this one?" she asked, pointing to a modest vessel. It was dinged, and the paint was patchy, but it was a solid ship.

"Fifty thousand." The merchant slapped the table, the sound of clanking metal startled Dara and she stared at the man's gloved hand.

"Thirty-five," she countered, tearing her eyes from the merchant's limb and pulling out an image of her scout ship. "This is worth at least twenty-five."

The dealer held out his hand. Dara set the projector in it. He studied the little ship, bringing up the specs and nodding thoughtfully.

"Agreed, twenty-five credit for this. But the price is Forty."

"Thirty-seven and a half."

"Done! If –" The merchant handed Dara back her device and held up a staying finger. "– you do me one small favor."

"What might that be?" Dara asked, eyes narrowed.

"I have an… item I need transferred to a friend. Subtly. If you deliver the item in question, I will honor our bargain."

Dara bit her lip. "What guarantee do I have this isn't a ploy to take my money and kill me, or sell me? I don't even know if these pictures are real." She indicated the dormant catalog.

The merchant's single eye glowed a vibrant amber and his voice rumbled, "I am a man of my word. No harm will come to you while you are in my service." His eye faded into a soft, medium brown.

Dara gritted her teeth, unease spreading through her gut. Her eyes flickered to the catalog and she licked her dry lips. "Alright," she relented. "What do I have to do?"

"Come back one hour past midnight. I will give you the item and directions to the recipient."

Dara nodded. "I'll be here."

Just as the last rays of sunlight disappeared over the horizon, she slipped away from the booth, heading back to the docks.

"I _will_ find you, my little butterfly… no matter what I have to do…" Dara whispered.

* * *

Half an hour later, Dara sank down into the pilot's seat.

Taking the components she bought, Dara dug out the broken holomask and popped the little device open. It took some time, but she repaired the damage and replaced the mask emitter, just inside her ear.

She turned it on, holding her breath as she pulled a small mirror out of her bag.

Her reflection morphed into the face of a much younger woman, one whose face she'd worn for nearly a year.

Dara opened her bag again. Inside, the flight suit she'd worn so much over the past twelve months was neatly folded into a compression bag along with two other changes of clothes.

"I'm sorry…" she breathed, staring into the girl's face. "I had to do it. You fought to save Erats, * just as I did in the end. My brother… he –" Dara choked.

She closed her eyes, remembering. He looked so much like their mother. She ran a hand through her chestnut hair. Her brother's was a light auburn, but he and she wore the same piercing green eyes and light azure skin.

"If only you were still alive…" she whispered into the memory. "What I wouldn't give to see you again, and part as brother and sister instead of strangers…"

Another face rose in her mind. "Neshamah sheli…" Dara smiled. "If your father could see you now he would regret leaving you behind. You've not one, but three thrones to your name. I only pray… that you are not still at the mercy of that witch, Aurelia."

She wiped the tears from her eyes and went back to looking through her stowed possessions. Tucked into one of the bag's pouches, neatly folded, were a pair of fingerless, fabric gauntlets. Dara pulled them out. They shone a brilliant white as she slipped them on for the first time in years. They blended in with her white shirt, coming up to her elbows and covering the tops of her hands.

She'd fended off many attacks with these. Made of woven Iscandarium, they were impervious to laser-fire, electricity, and radiation.

She looked at her reflection again. Her conscience burned as she stared into the stolen face. Dara adjusted the mask's settings, changing the features until the guilt melted away. The face she settled on looked close to her own age. Taking off the mask would be easier – no more hiding. But the instant she reached up to deactivate it, a feeling of dread washed over her.

Dara left the mask on. She patted her holstered side-arm and peeked down at her sheathed knife. "If you go back on your word, merchant, I'll be ready."

There were still several hours until the rendezvous.

"Better get some sleep," she muttered, dimming the cabin lights.

* * *

Dara left her ship, all the lights now off. Leaving the hangar quietly, she set out through the silent city, making it to the merchant's deserted booth right on time.

She crouched behind the booth, out of sight of the street. Keeping a close watch, she switched off her mask, so the merchant would recognize her.

"Psst," a whisper came to her on the night air.

She looked over her shoulder to see the merchant's amber eye glowing at the end of a nearby alley. He motioned for her to follow him as he skittered down the dark path.

Dara stole through the pitch-black alley, nearly bumping into the merchant as he stopped in front of an unmarked door.

"Here." He handed Dara a small, metal box, and then held up a ragged piece of paper with brief directions. "Follow these," he instructed. "Give the crate to the man with violet eyes."

"Alright…" Dara took the crate and paper and started back toward the street.

"Wait!" The merchant grabbed her arm. "Do not carry it out in the open like that." His eyes darted around the alley. "At least tuck it under your arm."

Startled by his insistence, Dara held the crate close, draping her traveling cloak over it.

The merchant nodded his approval. "Do not come back here. I will know when the delivery is made. The recipient will give you the dock number for your ship. Now, go," he whispered, eye glowing once again as he stepped inside the unmarked door.

With several glances back toward the door, Dara slipped out of the alley, flicking her mask back on before stealing away through the night.

Nearly an hour afterward, she found her destination – a poorly-lit tavern.

The moment she stepped inside, her skin crawled with the occupant's stares. She eyed the leering Bolar who brushed past her.

A group of women with skin spanning all colors of the light spectrum sat at the bar on the other side of the room, laughing and clinking full glasses.

Her feet swished on the floor, carving a path through the dirt dragged in by the customers. Even in the low light she caught sight of several sand-whispers skittering under tables and into cracks in the walls. She grimaced as two of the insects scooted over her boot.

Over the din of the customers, she could hear the seductively dissonant tones of a Cometine song, performed by three young women. "Haven't heard that in years," she muttered.

Dara shuffled past a stout man, reeking of alcohol. He shook with laughter, pointing at another patron rolling on the floor, convulsing in a puddle of bubbling sludge.

Fighting the urge to vomit, she averted her eyes, searching for the man she'd come to meet. Her gaze inadvertently met that of a Cometine. The look on his pasty green face sent a chill through her. She pushed past his table, heading for the back of the tavern.

The ogler shadowed her.

"Did you need something?" she growled, flashing her knife at him.

Her stalker pulled up short, eyeing the floor as he backed away, hands raised.

Dara sheathed her blade with a smirk.

"You've come," a deep voice rumbled quietly behind her.

Dara whirled around to see a man sitting in the corner, hood pulled over his face. Darkness covered the empty table in front of him. She slipped into the rickety chair opposite him. "Who do you think I am, exactly?" she whispered.

"My courier," he replied.

"And why do you think that?" she challenged.

The man slipped a piece of paper to Dara under the table. "A gesture of good faith."

She took the paper and peeked at it. A dock number.

"This could be the serial stamp for a floor scrubber, for all I know," she countered.

With a quiet chuckle, the man pulled back his hood just enough for Dara to catch a glimpse of his glowing eyes. "My name is Muska."

Dara noted the light shade of his hand. "Are you… from Galera?"

"No." His eyes sparkled with amusement. "But you are of Galman blood. Ironic."

"What do you mean?" Dara asked.

Muska cleared his throat. "It isn't important right now. You have the crate?"

Dara eased the box out from under her cloak, keeping it on the side of the table nearest the wall.

Muska took it, pulling a thick bag over the crate and tucking it into his robe.

"You have what you came for." Dara started to get up, but Muska caught her arm.

"Take me with you," he said. "I can be of use on your journey."

Dara stared back at him, startled, one eyebrow raised.

"You came to a place like this in the middle of the night, on an errand from a man you don't know in exchange for a ship with warp capabilities. I am no Solace, but in you I see fear – desperation."

"Solace…?" Dara sat back down. She stared into Muska's violet eyes as they glowed with the same strange light as the old merchant's

"The Solace…" Muska leaned forward. "Is a tale from long ago. He was an empath – one gifted by Shaddai* to sense the inner turmoil of others and soothe it."

Dara gave Muska a side-long look. "I'm not a child. You'll have to do better than a bedtime story to enchant me." She pushed up out of her chair.

"Wait!" Muska stopped her again. "Please..."

Dara sat back down one more time, glancing at the tavern door every few seconds. "Yes?"

"I know who you are."

Dara's heart skipped. "I beg your pardon?"

Muska smiled sadly and pushed back his hood just a bit more. An ugly scar marred his face, snaking over one eye. "I am the Keeper." He bowed his head. "Entrusted many hundreds of years ago with the secrets of the line of the Guardiana. I was there when Premier Bemlayze of the Bolars executed your mother – the day your grandmother's grandmother ascended to the throne of Guardiana – the day the Diviner was born –"

Dara snorted. "Another fable."

Muska's eyes softened. "You believe in the existence of such great evil as the demon Guardiana, and yet you will not accept the reality of such great goodness as Shaddai's Diviner?"

Dara folded her arms and said with narrowed eyes, "I've _seen_ the darkness in this world all too well, 'Keeper.' No one was there to save me from it."

Muska sighed. "Yet, here you sit among the living – a child taken by evil, entrusted to a depraved king and then banished by the same. You lost your mother, father, brothers… Your own daughter."

Dara swallowed hard. "You are a good liar," she whispered, hiding her face.

"You know I speak the truth, Lady Daratina of Gamilon."

Her eyes shot to Muska's.

"Your mask does not hide your true face from me." He laid an open palm on the table. "Take me with you."

"Alright…" Dara whispered.

"We've quite some distance to cover." Muska eased out from behind the table and motioned for Dara to precede him as they left the tavern.

It was not far to the docks.

Dara found the bay number and stepped inside. "What is this?" she challenged. "This isn't the right ship!" She pointed to a newly painted cruiser, the same model as the one she'd chosen, but with none of the wear and tear of the holo.

"It was… and old image," Muska replied.

Dara blinked. "Fine." She dismissed. "Just get in."

Muska boarded the vessel, quickly followed by Dara, who directed the strange man to the crew quarters farthest away from her chosen room.

He went without protest.

Dara deposited her bag, and then headed to the bridge where she installed a clone of her prior ship's computer. She spot-checked her old flight logs, noting with satisfaction that they were still intact.

Muska took the helmsman's position.

"Since you seem to know so much, why don't you plot a course for Kalan," Dara directed. To her surprise, the man didn't even ask for a sector number.

"You were wise to wear that mask," Muska commented as the ship rose from the platform and left the dock. "The Cometine worlds –"

"That subject is closed," Dara bit back.

"Beware, lest bitterness take you," Muska warned.

Dara sat down hard in the captain's seat. "Fly."

* * *

A full week sped by, with four hours between each warp.

Kalan loomed ahead, half a dozen dust storms swirling on its surface, sweeping over large, domed cities.

"Waypoint Fifty-six seventeen, this is _Toska_ ," Dara hailed in fluent Cometine. "Requesting permission to dock."

" _Fifty-six seventeen to_ Toska _. You will dock at Nomad Square, bay Five-five-seven-seventy-four. Your permit expires in twenty-seven hours. No extensions. Violations will result in fines and-or confiscation,"_ the ATC A.I. responded.

Dara nodded absently. "Take us down."

They settled into port and Dara headed out. Muska started after her down the boarding ramp.

"No." She held up a hand. "Stay and look after the ship." She flashed a small device at the man. "I'll be watching."

Muska stepped back inside with a nod.

Dara sighed, relived to be out of his sight for a while. Every time he looked at her, Dara felt like his eyes burrowed into her soul. He knew… everything – maybe more than she did.

Holographic advertisements glimmered on every surface imaginable. Unlike the backwater wasteland they'd just come from, Kalan boasted quite the impressive city-scape. Buildings jutted up everywhere, their shining towers adorned with images that made Dara's cheeks burn. She glanced up every so often, only to wish she hadn't.

"Still the same Kalan," she muttered.

The sun sank low on the horizon. Glaring city lights snuffed out the glow of the few stars already shining in the twilight. Men and women filled the streets, over half of them already unable to walk a straight line. Another quarter stared blankly up into space, or sat in alleyways, drowning in their own dreams.

"Hey." A woman with long, ebony hair and pristine white skin slid into stride beside Dara, running a manicured hand down her arm.

Dara looked away. "I'm not interested."

"House specialty tonight," the woman stepped in front of Dara, a sultry smirk on her dark red lips.

"I said I'm not interested," Dara growled, pushing past her.

She spied a familiar street sign and walked faster. She was close.

Darkness fell, intensifying the glare of the street lights. Shadows grew sharp and unforgiving. Dara's heart clenched as she heard an echoing scream followed by the snap of breaking bone. She fought back tears as another cry, this one from a young child, was cut short.

Her hand strayed to her gun as her path narrowed, foreboding darkness stretching out on either side of the thin strip of light.

There it was. The street she was looking for.

Dara turned the corner and stumbled straight into a pack of men, drenched in the stink of liquor. Six pairs of blood-shot eyes locked on her.

"Hey there," one of them slurred. "You should come with us." He pointed to his friends.

"I don't think so." Dara sidestepped his outstretched hand. He nearly toppled over.

"Why not?" Another sneered. "You too good for us, princess?"

Dara's eyes blazed an angry emerald. She gritted her teeth and kept walking.

"Hey!" A third man's hand snaked out and grabbed her by the hair.

Dara yelped as he yanked her backward, pulling her into the middle of the group.

"You can't just walk away without saying good-bye," a fourth man asserted.

Dara swallowed the sour taste in her throat.

"Fine," she said calmly.

In one swift motion, she tipped up her boot and snatched out her knife, slicing into the hand twined in her hair.

Her assailant fell to the ground, screeching, blood running down his arm.

Dara twirled the knife, gripping it more securely and swept a leg under the two nearest men, sending them sprawling. She searched for the first man and found him lying in the street, out cold. She dodged the last one, smacking him soundly on the back of the head. He flopped into the street, face-first, unconscious.

Satisfied, Dara sheathed her knife and dusted off her hands.

"Good-bye, boys." She stepped over the man slumped in front of her. "Yes, definitely the same old Kalan." She shook her head as she saw the sign. "The White Dragon Inn," she mused. "It's been a long time."

* * *

 **Episode 1: Notes**

* Neshamah sheli – a term of endearment

* Erats - Earth

* Shaddai – a name used here of God, the Father

 **Author's Note:**

Hello everyone,

Thanks for popping in for this week's post. Next week, we'll be headed back to "Fortress of Evil" for Episode 2: As a Spark. Stay tuned to my profile page for updates.

Happy reading and writing,

*dtill359


	3. Chapter 2: At the Seams

**Chapter 2: At the Seams**

Fresh décor, new employees and the old smell of polished wood and shined floors met Dara as she stepped into the White Dragon. She spotted the host, a tall, thin Cometine, with ragged black hair and dark, narrow eyes. The urge to hide her face—masked though it was—rushed through her as she recognized him. She shoved it away.

Fear still whispered to her as she approached the host, but she held her head up, pasting a layer of false confidence over her insecurity.

Dara stopped six inches from the green-skinned man. "I hold the might of Andromeda."

The host flicked his wrist. Just behind the tall counter next to them, a panel in the floor slid open. He nodded to Dara.

She nodded back and took her first step into a dimly lit staircase.

The panel above her slid closed without a sound. For a terrifying instant Dara couldn't see. She blinked in the darkness, groping for the stair railing.

As her eyes adjusted, she realized the steps weren't as deep as she'd supposed. Two dozen steps ended at a plain door.

Dara descended the stairs, careful not to trip.

She swallowed hard when she noticed the control panel glowing with a combination lock. It was six digits. She wracked her brain. "What was it…?" she chided herself, mind racing.

Minutes passed, and doubt crept over her. She growled, sifting through a hundred combinations.

There! She remembered.

Hand shaking, she punched in the number, sucking in a deep breath before she tapped the last digit.

The door clicked open.

The lighting did not improve as the murmur of a crowd and a mix of strong odors clouded Dara's senses. She caught a whiff of Stardust from a nearby dealer, his armband marked with a purple mask. The portions were so small. Either he was stingy, or his crop was pure.

She shuddered, remembering her experience with the stuff. One unfiltered snuff… The things she saw in that warped reality were better forgotten.

The next section, marked by flags sporting a crimson tear, displayed unfamiliar armaments. The dealers whispered with patrons, handing over pieces of armor that glittered and shone in the low light. She tugged at her sleeves, covering her Iscandarium gauntlets.

Dara's throat caught. The next banner, emblazoned with a hollow, indigo circle, shook her.

Chains clanked. An ear-splitting crash sent her darting to the other side of the path. Four men, each with skin a different color, reached through the bars on their cage. They slammed into the iron slats over and over, stretching towards her, their pleading eyes boring into her soul.

She held back tears until she spied a little girl, collared and cuffed, led on a short chain by a man forty years her senior. The dirt on her face masked her soft blue skin, and her ragged clothes hung off her starved frame.

Her heart ached to save the child—to liberate every captive here…

She squeezed her eyes shut, conjuring Constance's dear face as she wept for the miserable souls around her, glad the underground chamber wasn't well lit.

With a shaky breath, she wiped her tears and steeled her resolve, skirting through the rest of the section, avoiding eye contact.

Past the slave market, Dara found them. Marked with a black star, these men and women whispered to their patrons behind thick screens or in closed off corners.

She approached the nearest dealer. "I'm looking for Goru."

"Eh?" The man eyed her. "Goru? Don't know him." He shooed her away.

Puzzled, Dara went to the next available dealer. He dismissed her too.

Two shadows loomed over her. Pain snaked up her arms as a pair of burly men grabbed her.

Dara struggled, trying to wrench her arms out of their strong grip.

They whisked her through dark passages to a large chamber, lit by a flickering fireplace. Eerie shadows danced over the floor.

An old man sat in a high-backed chair near the fire, a thick, leather-bound book in his hands.

Dara squinted at him. His fingers glittered with jeweled rings, and expensive bracelets jangled on his bony arms.

"What is your business here at my Inn?" the old man wheezed. "And using the Cometine prince's credentials."

"I'm looking for Retaq Goru. Zordar sent me." The monarch's name burned on her tongue as she uttered the lie.

"Ha!" the old man laughed and snapped his book shut. "Goru? That two-timer—I threw him out years ago for double-selling his information. I thought the prince knew. I have to keep my reputation." He waved off his men. They retreated, hovering a few feet away.

"He is… occupied with other matters," Dara supplied. "Where is Goru now?"

"Don't know—don't care," the owner dismissed. "Now leave and don't come back. Zordar knows better than to send someone unannounced. Can't have my little market getting too much unwanted attention."

Before Dara could reply, a sharp crack on the head sent her tumbling into unconsciousness.

She awoke in an alley, several streets from the inn. She patted her pockets. Nothing was missing. She dusted off her clothes and got up, growling as she kicked a rock. It bounced off the opposite wall.

Head still spinning, she leaned against the stone wall at her back. She stared up into the night sky, just able to pick out the two brightest stars through the glaring street lights.

Head low, she headed back toward her ship.

Half-way back to the dock, she glimpsed movement from the nearby shadows. She froze, hand hovering near her gun.

A whisper reached out from the darkness. "I can answer your question."

Dara's eyes darted around the empty street. She hung back, taking a few steps toward a nearby doorway, the pool of light at its threshold promising safety.

"Are you still interested in finding Goru?" came the whisper.

"What business is that of yours?" Dara challenged, eyes narrowed as she squinted into the shadows.

She stifled a shriek when the voice hissed right into her ear. "I have a bargain for you."

Dara whirled. A tall man, hidden by a dark hood, faced her. His hands tucked into their opposite sleeve, hiding his skin-color.

"When you find Retaq, you will give him this." He held out a black-gloved hand. In it lay a small box. "Tell him Lucia no longer wants it. But–" He held up a warning finger. "Do not even consider stealing the contents."

"All right…" Dara accepted the box. It was light and fit in the center of her palm. "But why haven't you, or this Lucia gone to see Goru yourselves?"

The man shook his head. "Go to Mar."

"When I get there, how–?"

The light above her flickered.

The man was gone.

* * *

Dara's ship sped away from the docks, headed for the other side of Kalan. It was faster to break atmosphere and look for Mar from orbit, but that would void their permit.

Hours later, as they neared the little village, Muska asked, "What do you hope to find in this place?"

"Someone with the information I need," Dara replied without looking at him.

"What makes you think I don't have it?" Muska said.

Dara felt his steady gaze. Unease spread over her. "Because," she quipped. "You—you don't."

Muska didn't reply.

The sun left far behind, Dara flew further into the darkness, stopping over a vast lake.

"What kind of fishing town is this?" Dara studied the village with the ship's sensors. "There aren't any boats on the lake, except one ferry near the shore." She frowned. "This place has seen much better days."

She settled the ship down on the shore, near the ferry. "Come on." She motioned for Muska to follow her.

He slung a square pack over his shoulder. By the dull clank, Dara guessed it housed his prized crate.

They locked down the ship, and Dara and Muska walked to the ferry.

The boatman's eyes grew wide as the pair approached his short pier. He clutched an oar, his pasty-white skin turning translucent. "Y-yes?" he stuttered. "You wish p-passage?" The man glanced from the distant town to Dara and Muska.

Dara nodded. "Can you take us to Mar?"

"Y-yes…" The ferryman stepped into his boat and gestured for the strangers to board. He untethered the craft, his eyes darting from one side of the boat to the other. He dipped his oar into the water without a sound.

Dara glimpsed a four-foot shadow gliding beneath the boat.

The ferryman froze, breathing ragged as he stared into the dark lake, whispering. He bowed, placing two fingers on his forehead.

When the shadow passed, he straightened, trembling, and kept rowing.

Once docked at the village, Dara and Muska paid the ferryman and bid him goodnight.

Dara stepped out into the street and froze when the path moved beneath her. She took another step, testing her weight.

"The roads are suspended above the lake," Muska supplied, passing her, unphased, his heavy footsteps thumping on the tightly bound wooden planks.

Dara gave him a perturbed glare but followed.

Lamps stood every few feet, lit with flickering wicks. Glass domes sat atop the flames, protecting them from the wind that gusted across the lake.

The night, though creeping toward morning, was quiet. Chirps and croaks sang out through the darkness, serenading the little town.

The path bounced under Muska's weight.

"You're a lot heavier than you look," Dara quipped as they approached a stout building at the edge of the village. Two lamps glowed outside the front door and light from within shone out through the cracks between the door and its frame.

"Town Hall," Dara read the small sign.

The chipped, wooden door creaked open and a middle-aged man, a Cometine, stepped out. His clothes reminded Dara more of the Bolar colonies—simple.

"I'm looking for Retaq Goru." Dara reached out open-handed, showing the man she meant him no harm.

The Maran froze. Fear seeped over his face at Goru's name and he whispered, eyes flying to the dark lake. He pressed two fingers to his forehead, bowed and backed away from the strangers.

Dara sighed and plopped onto the small stoop, Muska standing next to her.

The door creaked again. Dara looked up. Out stepped a younger, violet-skinned man.

"What's going on with this place? Where is Retaq Goru?"

The young man whirled toward her, finger to his lips. "Shh! He'll hear you." Terror laced his face.

"Who?" Dara stood, eyebrow raised, voice low.

The young man pulled back and whispered, "Strakhna."

"Strakhna—does he know where Goru is?" she said.

The young man gave a stuttered nod, inching away from Dara and Muska.

"Who is he?" she pried.

The local's gaze flitted past Dara to the lake. Eyes wide, he scrambled backward and tripped as he stumbled down the wooden walkway.

A shadow fell over her, blocking out the full moon. Dara's blood chilled as a long, serpentine body rose out of the lake. Its amber eyes locked onto her, and a thunderous roar split the still night.

Dara leapt off the stoop, sprinting toward the center of the village, Muska on her heels. The planks jounced and wobbled.

They streaked past rows of buildings as the giant sea snake's head followed them far into the town.

"It can't chase us forever," she called back to Muska. "It would be in the village already if it could navigate the streets."

Her foot caught as a loose plank slipped out from under her, but she recovered.

They swerved onto another street, between two of the tallest buildings in the village.

The threatening shadow disappeared.

Dara breathed a sigh of relief and skidded to a halt, panting. "I haven't—run—that hard in a long time." She glanced over at Muska. He wasn't even breathing hard. "Well, I guess we found Strakhna."

Muska nodded. "So, it would seem."

"Great." Dara shook her head and leaned against the wall. "So, Goru got eaten by a sea monster. Just wonderful." She sighed. "Let's get back to the capitol. We have to return this." She patted the little box that bulged through her pocket. She stood up straight, her breath slowing. "Let's wait—makes sure that thing's gone."

Twenty minutes rolled by in silence. The water lapped up against the building supports, its gentle sound setting Dara at ease.

"All right. Come on." She motioned for Muska to follow her. "Our permit has twelve hours left on it." She growled under her breath. "What a waste of time."

Muska's heavy hand weighed on her shoulder. "Listen."

Dara stopped mid-step.

Silence.

Her eyes darted around the alley, hands and feet spread in a defensive stance.

A hard wave rocked the path as it creaked and groaned.

A great crack rent the air, and the planks beneath Dara's and Muska's feet shattered, broken by humongous teeth.

Dara screamed as they plummeted into the gullet of the angry sea serpent.

* * *

Dara woke to a throbbing head. She groaned and cracked open her eyes.

Walls lined with glowing streaks reminiscent of a circuit-board surrounded her. The markings extended to the floor and ceiling, snaking toward a console jutting up from the floor several feet away. Near the console stood a closed door.

Muska's heavy breathing rattled nearby. Dara sat up. "Muska?" She shook him by the shoulders. "Muska?"

The door's hiss sent her whirling.

"Ah! At least one of you is awake. About time." A man tapped a device on his wrist as he entered.

"Who—who are you?" Dara fought off a fit of nausea as she struggled to her feet.

"Who am _I_?" He chuckled and pointed at her. "Who are _you_?"

Dara's heart pounded.

The man's eyes narrowed. "What are you doing here?"

"I—I'm looking for Retaq Goru," Dara replied.

"Hm." The man raised an eyebrow. "Interesting."

"I…" Dara faltered. "The people of Mar told me a sea monster took him. We were… just about to leave."

The man chuckled. "I see."

"Is Goru… dead?" Dara ventured.

The stranger opened his mouth just as Muska stirred behind Dara. She glanced back at her companion as he pulled himself to his feet, his pack still sealed.

Dara's confidence rose. She turned back to the stranger, puzzled to see the shadow of fear fall over him. His eyes flickered orange as he looked at Muska.

"Goru… is below." The man backed away. The floor lurched, and he stumbled. Dara caught the faint clank of metal on metal as he regained his footing.

With a bow, the stranger gestured toward the door as it opened.

Dara cast a curious glance at Muska, and then she nodded to the stranger. Outside, a recessed elevator met her, its door melting open to accommodate her and Muska.

The same circuit-like pattern covered the walls, but here it glowed a deeper emerald.

Their descent stretched over ten minutes. The elevator changed direction several times, sending Dara's stomach churning.

When the elevator opened into a small foyer, another door loomed ahead.

Dara crossed to the second door, eyes wary. Symbols, instead of plain gray metal, covered this door, but the markings lay inert.

She jerked away as a beam of light fell on her.

It winked back out.

She took a step forward again. The same light filtered over Dara; this time, it blinked amber. The door remained closed.

Muska stepped up beside Dara and motioned for her to retreat.

The beam reappeared, falling on Muska like a thin layer of snow.

Her breath caught as the symbols on the door flared violet. The beam vanished, and the door slid open.

Dara slipped by Muska, a chill trickling through her as she passed the Keeper, avoiding his eyes.

As the pair entered the room beyond, Dara stopped.

It was the most opulently furnished room she'd ever seen. Rare furs lined chairs and curved booths. Expensive wood and stone paved every surface, and precious metals coated ornate chandeliers.

Everything sparkled in the glow of the wall-markings as their color shifted from one end of the light spectrum to the other in a never-ending dance.

Men and women of varying ages and ethnicities wore expensive clothes, and the aroma of their food made Dara's mouth water.

An unsightly guffaw caught Dara's ear. Still rail-thin and as ugly as she remembered with his sickly pale complexion, Goru sat, tucked into a small booth, drink in hand. He stared into space, laughing every few seconds, watching something on his neuro-interface.

New, jeweled studs lined the man's ears. A black star tattoo covered one eye, and spotty, black stubble dotted his chin and jaw. Dara rolled her eyes as she saw the two dozen drink tabs lining the table in front of him.

Head held high, she wove through the crowd, stopping at Goru's table. "Lucia doesn't want this." She tossed the tiny box onto the table and crossed her arms.

Goru jumped, spilling his drink. His head jerked toward Dara, a streak of surprise on his face. Then an amused smile spread over his lips and he chuckled. "For a moment there, I thought you were someone else." He eyed the back of her hand, then glanced at the tiny, glowing chip embedded in his own. "How did you get in without–?"

Muska stepped up beside her.

"Oh, I see." Goru gestured to his empty booth. "Please, sit."

Dara looked from Muska to Goru, puzzled, but slid into the booth ahead of Muska, his bag still secured to his back.

"What are you doing here?" Dara whispered, leaning toward Goru, then pulling back as she smelled the potent haze of alcohol on his breath.

"In the belly of a mechanical sea beast?" Goru chuckled. "Protecting my hide." He picked up the little box Dara threw at him and popped it open. "Please, tell me Lucia doesn't know where I am."

"She doesn't." Dara raised an eyebrow. "Are you… hiding from a woman?"

From the box, Goru withdrew a silver band, topped with a small sapphire. "She is… passionate, Lucia, but she doesn't understand business." He gulped down the rest of his drink.

Dara snorted. "You cheated on her, didn't you?"

Goru let out a bitter laugh. "She'd have my heart mounted in a trophy case if she ever found me." He fingered one ear stud. "In fact, here." He held the ring out to Dara. "Take it. I'd wager on my grandmother's grave there's a tracker on that." He pointed to the band. "Better they follow you than me."

"What's in it for me?" Dara took the offering and slipped it onto her finger, tucking away the empty box.

"Your first purchase from me is on-the-house." Goru waved over a woman in a short, fuscia dress. "Another round for me, and something for my friends here." He gestured to Dara and Muska.

"Nothing for me," Dara waved off the offer.

Muska shook his head.

Goru shrugged. "All right, two more for me."

The waitress bowed and disappeared.

"What are you now? A pirate?" Dara smirked.

"Liberator of unused assets," Goru corrected, wagging a finger at her. "Any body of water on Kalan—name it, and we'll get there. And I still peddle my product." He pointed to the thin disk fixed behind one ear. "But it's more… exclusive than it used to be." He grinned as the waitress returned with his drinks, one pink, one green. "Ah!" He took a long sip from one glass, then the other. "Why come to see me?" He pointed to Muska. "Your friend's an odd one, and you…" Goru set his drinks down and leaned forward, staring into Dara's eyes. "I feel like we've met…"

Dara's heart pounded. "Since you owe me for taking this tracker, what do you know about the uninhabited worlds out past Sanzar?"

"Hm." Goru fingered his stubble, staring up at the chandelier dangling overhead. "There are several." He tapped the tiny disk behind his ear.

"A jungle world," Dara supplied.

Goru's eyes fluttered over the air as his neuro-interface showed him an invisible readout. "Ah—Horesh. Nasty rain; no population, unless you count the wildlife. Looks like…" He raised an eyebrow. "Several scuffles nearby in recent years." He tapped his interface disk, and a set of numbers flashed onto the table in front of Dara. "Coordinates."

Dara's heart leapt, her fingers itching to grab the tiny device hidden away in a pocket tucked under her left arm.

"Make sure it doesn't get back to Lucia where I am," Goru cautioned as the pair rose to leave.

Dara shook her head. Two steps from the table, her communicator buzzed. She checked it and whirled, glaring at Goru. "Get out of my network!"

Goru threw up his hands. "Relax! It's just in case you're in another pinch. I can still use the business, you know. Drinks this good don't pay for themselves." He grinned, holding up one half-empty glass.

"Fine," she growled under her breath, leaning over Goru with stormy eyes. "Contact me unsolicited, and I'll be back—with Lucia."

Goru sank into the booth. "Okay."

Dara headed for the elevator.

"Little weasel," she muttered.

She and Muska rode back to the control room in silence.

"Can you take us to shore?" Dara said as soon as they stepped off the elevator.

The man they'd first seen upon their arrival gave Muska another wary glance and nodded. His hands flew over the controls. "This Gate will take you back to your ship."

Dara froze, holding back a shudder as a swirling blue-black portal materialized a few feet in front of her. Her pulse raced. "Gate?"

"It's harmless; nothing like the celestial Aquarius Network," the stranger replied.

Dara shoved back the nervous flutter in her stomach. "All right." She glanced over her shoulder at Muska. "Let's get out of there." She tensed, eyes squeezed shut as she stepped through the portal, expecting any moment to feel the disturbing presence of a gate-ghost.

An instant later, the welcoming light of early morning flowed over Dara, warm and soothing. She opened her eyes to see her ship, right where they'd left it. Her shoulders sagged in relief as the gentle sigh of waves lapping against the shore greeted her.

"Horesh," she whispered as Muska followed her back to the ship. "I don't look forward to seeing _you_ again."

* * *

 **Author's Note:**

Wonderful to see so many of you keeping up with everything I have running right now. If you get a minute and want to read a shorter story, head on over to s/11933506/1/Yamato-Tales-of-the-Star-Force and check out the newest addition, "Plan," featuring Neville Royster and one of my own characters, Matthew Clemens.

Next week's post will rotate back to "Fortress of Evil" for Episode three, "Fainthearted." See you there.

*dtill359


	4. Chapter 3: In the Weeds

**Chapter 3: In the Weeds**

"Set a course for Horesh." Dara folded her arms and leaned back in her seat. As their heading changed, she started warp preparations. "Warp in thirty seconds."

Dara shut her eyes against the disorienting wall of muddled visions as they whipped past her.

 _Toska_ phased out of warp-space one minute later.

With Kalan behind them, Dara relaxed. She brought up the map. "Gamilon-controlled space…" she muttered. Goru's coordinates for Horesh blinked green.

Dara's fingers itched, roaming toward the pocket sewn beneath her arm. She balled her fist, and forced her hand back into her lap, eyeing Muska's back.

"Course is holding steady," he said.

Dara calculated another jump. "Thirty seconds to warp."

She closed her eyes again, fighting off the jumbled images. One consolation rose. Constance.

Dara counted sixty painful seconds and opened her eyes as _Toska_ sank into normal space. She glanced at the engine status and groaned. "Overheating. Three hours to cool down."

"I'll be in my quarters." Muska left the bridge.

Dara slumped in her chair once his door closed. "We're not even half-way there…" With a sigh, she headed for her room.

When the lock clicked, she flopped onto her bunk and pulled off her boots. She tossed them to the floor and curled up under her blanket.

* * *

"What–?" Dara shot out of bed, alarms screeching. _Toska_ rocked hard.

She staggered out the door, struggling to pull on her second boot as she fumbled down the hall to the bridge.

"One ship," Muska announced from the pilot's seat. "It's charging weapons again."

Dara growled and punched the comm controls. "This is _Toska_. We are not hostile—I repeat _not_ hostile!"

The deck heaved, and Dara grabbed for her chair arm. She snagged it and rode out the turbulence. "Identify yourself," she demanded.

The viewscreen winked on. A bareheaded man appeared, the whites of his eyes a blue so dark Dara could barely discern where he was looking. His skin shone blue, lighter than Dara's. She shivered as his gaze fixed on her.

"I know you have it," hissed the stranger. "Return it, and we will show mercy."

Dara narrowed her eyes at the stranger.

"Give back the key!"

"I have no key," Dara bit back.

"Return it now, or–" The man's gaze shifted to Muska. "You!" he growled, eyes slitted.

"Leave," Muska replied, tone even.

"Not without the key. I'll pry it from your dead fingers," the stranger said.

"Disappointment is part of life." Muska cut the call.

Dara glared at the Keeper.

"Take aim as I instruct," Muska said.

Dara took her station and opened weapons' controls, glancing at Muska every half a second. Four numbers flashed orange.

"Fire," said Muska.

Doubt flared. She hesitated. Her shot flew wide.

Bold red streaks ripped into the bridge. Shards of metal tore into consoles and walls.

Dara hit the deck as debris flew over her head. "Get down!" she shouted to Muska.

He grunted as a piece of metal bounced off his arm, but he stayed in his chair. Air rushed through gaps in the hull as Muska punched in another command.

Emergency seals plugged the breaches and Dara hauled herself into her chair, sucking in a hard breath as the air pressure stabilized. She gritted her teeth. "Nobody beats up my ship."

The instant four more numbers flashed through her interface, Dara fired.

Their attacker limped away, its weapons useless.

"We must leave." Muska headed toward his quarters, gripping his arm. "Get away from here. I will return soon."

Dara held back a gasp. From between Muska's fingers, a shard jutted from his shoulder. His dark sleeve was soaked.

"Wait." She started after him. "Let me–"

Muska's door slid shut in her face, and she took a step back.

"Go on," Muska said through the door. "We shouldn't stay here."

With a sigh, Dara returned to the bridge and resumed their course, settling into the fastest safe sub-light speed. She stared at the jagged hole in the front of her ship. "At least they didn't hit anything vital," she muttered.

Fifteen minutes after Muska disappeared, Dara heard a soft whir. She strained to find the sound's source. She got up and crept toward the crew quarters. The sound grew louder. When it brought her to Muska's door, she stopped. Ears alert, she listened hard.

The whir welled to a jolting chatter.

"Muska?" she called. "What are you doing?"

No answer.

"Muska!" Dara pounded on the door, then tried the control panel. It flashed red. "Unlock this!" she demanded. The chatter intensified to a loud clack, ringing like a bell inside a metal bucket. Dara clapped her hands over her ears and snapped at the door, "Let me in right now!"

" _Request emergency override?"_ the computer droned.

"Yes!" Dara replied.

" _Please provide retinal pattern,"_ the computer replied.

Dara bent toward the control panel, eyes forward.

With a hiss, the door popped open, and Dara stumbled inside. Muska sat on his bunk, rubbing his shoulder, the shrapnel gone. He pulled on a new shirt just as she entered, but Dara glimpsed the bandage tied around his arm.

"I'll start the bridge repairs." He brushed past her, heading for the EVA locker.

She spied the shard of debris peeking out of a soiled cloth. Black ooze smeared the white towel. Dara wrinkled her nose as the sharp odor of oil and petroleum clogged her senses.

"I'll be outside." Muska passed the door on his way to the airlock. "Keep an eye out for that ship. They may have… friends."

Dara backed into the hall and let the door close. "All right." She returned to the bridge and waited for Muska to tromp across the hull to the breach, hauling his tools and a new hull plate. Dara kept watch as Muska cut away the damaged section and replaced it.

Once done, he returned.

Dara didn't say anything as he tested the hull integrity and then resumed course for Horesh.

* * *

"Ten seconds to warp," Dara said as she made the final adjustments for their last jump.

The drive engaged, and reality blurred around her. She shut her eyes and counted. When she opened them, a green world greeted her. She stood and stared. "Take us into orbit."

As _Toska_ settled in with Horesh's gravity balance, Dara eyed Muska's arm again. Three days… and he showed no sign of pain or discomfort.

She clasped her hands behind her back, fingers clenched. "Get to your quarters."

When the Keeper was gone, Dara reached into her hidden pocket and withdrew a tiny, silver disk. She held it between both hands. Images flickered to life, within and without the ship. Using the disk, she sifted through them, but found nothing of value. Dara twisted the silver device. Days, weeks and months of images whirled past.

Two and a half hours went by, and Dara's eyes burned. She adjusted the device once more, to a point just short of two years ago.

"There you are," she hissed at an ominous ship as its image hovered over Horesh. Its sharp corners and austere bow loomed in Dara's memory. "Where did you take my daughter?"

She tapped the device to her computer console. "Calculate this vessel's trajectory."

A heading appeared.

Dara tucked the disk into its pocket. "Get back out here," she called to Muska over the ship's intercom.

Ten seconds later, he took his seat.

"Follow that course information," she instructed as she sat, twisting her fingers together.

"New heading plotted," Muska said.

Dara perched on her chair's lip, anticipation singing through her as Constance's face rose in her mind. "Get us out of here."

* * *

"Constance… Princess Mariposa…"

The voice encompassed her, echoing in the void.

She cracked open her eyes. All around, the nether clouds shifted. Shadows whispered into shape and then vanished. Murmurs of eight other prisoners swept through the twilight mist.

"Sentinels approach!" Elazar appeared next to her, concern etched in his emerald eyes.

Constance reached toward him, but his ghostly form faded as she touched it. "Not now." She shook her head.

"Make ready. We need your aid to protect this place—and the Nine. You must rise from stasis—use your avatar to help us protect them," Elazar said.

"But, I don't–"

"Overwhelm their senses," Elazar said. "What of them those creatures still have. Nuray and I will do the rest." Elazar began to fade. "Eight of the Nine are mired in the nether; their power ebbs." He vanished.

Mariposa closed her eyes.

Dizziness rushed through her. She rode it upward, through the nether, stopping in the realm of wakefulness. She pried open heavy lids and was greeted by the cavern tucked near the planet Phantom's heart.

"How long…?" she whispered through her stasis chamber's walls.

Elazar stepped into her vision. "You've slept one year and two months," he supplied. "Return to the nether's upper region. You will know what to do."

Mariposa closed her eyes and sank back into the Nine's network. Her tigress' holographic form materialized, and she laid a hand on its soft coat. Head bowed, she shut her eyes. "Shift."

The cloudy haze melted, replaced by the cavern where her unconscious body lay. Elazar pointed toward the exit tunnel. "Go to the entrance. They draw near."

Mariposa flew up the passage on four light paws. The tunnel mouth yawned ahead, its protective barrier still intact. She phased through the thick, white mesh and into dense underbrush.

The Sentinels' grunts and rumbling wails made her shiver. A loud snap grabbed her attention as one hideous creature plowed through the brush, its dead eyes fixed on her. Six more crashed through behind it.

Her avatar faded as fear struck her, but Mariposa bared her fangs and dug her paws into the ground, glaring down the monsters.

"This body is not real," she whispered as the creatures charged. Their pointed teeth glistened with black ichor. "They cannot hurt me." Mariposa concentrated on the closest Sentinel. "Go back to your devil queen!" she roared as burning heat exploded from her jaws.

The foremost creature yowled and threw its gray hands over its face as it crashed into the dirt. The other six scrambled back, screeching and flailing their arms.

Mariposa roared again, blinding light gushing out of her avatar's body.

The downed Sentinel clawed the soil and howled, crawling after its companions.

Silence fell over the woods.

Her fur prickled.

Three Sentinels ripped through the trees to her left. She whirled and blasted them with light. They fell back but didn't stop.

"Elazar!" she called through the network. "They're still coming!"

"Hold them," he replied. "Nuray and I need another minute."

"I will try," Mariposa replied, hitting the nightmarish creatures with a wave of noise so loud the trees quaked.

The Sentinels fell to their knees, writhing as they clawed at bloody ears. She counted. Twenty seconds, then the first creature struggled to its feet and staggered toward the tunnel entrance again.

Mariposa released another deafening salvo, buying another fifteen seconds.

Her heart pounded as the closest monster came within a foot of her. It grasped at her avatar's face. She flinched as its claws passed through her.

With a shriek, the Sentinel waved a fist in the air and charged through her tigress' form, hitting the tunnel barrier. It tore at the mesh with talons and teeth. The other six rushed to join it.

"I cannot hold them any longer," Mariposa told Elazar.

"We're ready," he replied. "Let them come."

Mariposa phased through the monstrous knot and into the tunnel. She followed the path as it snaked downward toward the planet's heart. Two minutes later, she heard the Sentinels break through. Their bare, taloned feet scratched the ground as they clamored after her.

"Elazar…" she mumbled. "I hope you know what you're doing."

Half-way to the refuge, Mariposa saw it.

Nuray of the Nine stood beside Elazar, arming a war cannon—bigger than any Mariposa had seen before.

Mariposa leapt behind the pair, coming about to face the approaching seven.

Elazar let loose a battle cry and mowed down two Sentinels with thick laser fire. The creatures' smoking remains crumbled into twin piles of ash.

Mariposa imagined the stink of charred, rotted flesh and she gagged.

Nuray took over the cannon and burned away two more monsters. Only three remained, but they charged the cannon, throwing themselves at the thick metal.

Mariposa's ears stung as the Sentinels' claws screeched against the cannon's shell.

Elazar and Nuray retreated, drawing weapons. Elazar fired on one creature as it gouged a jagged line into the cannon's underside, sending a rain of sparks onto the tunnel floor.

The monstrosity roared as its translucent skin absorbed the first three bolts but the fourth seared into its eye. The Sentinel crashed into the dirt, hands over its wounded face.

Nuray hit the second creature's limbs one at a time. It staggered and went down.

Elazar stood over the Sentinel he'd shot in the eye. It wailed, still wallowing on the floor. "You'll not take this place." He pointed his weapon at the creature's head.

The last unwounded Sentinel slammed into him, its claws digging at Elazar's side. He struggled to push the creature away. Its dripping fangs gnashed inches from his neck and then ripped into his shoulder.

He yelped then whipped out a blade. Through gritted teeth he said, "Not today," and plunged the knife between the Sentinel's dull eyes.

The creature's jaw fell slack as it slumped to the floor.

Nuray grappled with the limping Sentinel. Its arm hung useless and one leg was mangled beyond recognition. It hissed into her face. She growled back, thrusting the solid heel of her palm up into its nose. The crack of shattered bone made Mariposa wince.

The Sentinel fell, dead.

Nuray shot the last monster in the throat, then stabbed its remaining eye. She twisted the knife and ripped it out. Black gore spilled into the dirt.

Mariposa hung back, listening. "There will be more," she said. "Now that they know where we are, what's preventing… _her_ from coming here?" Mariposa shivered.

Elazar groaned as he clasped his bloodied side. His shoulder was covered in thick, dark ooze. "She sent her dogs as a test," he said, gesturing to the bodies littering the floor. "If she's returned to Phantom, she will come."

Nuray supported him, helping Elazar to the wall. When he laid both hands against the tunnel side, she let him go and crossed the passage, pressing both palms to the opposite wall.

The pair spoke in unison. Their words rang foreign to Mariposa, but as they uttered the last syllable, from the walls sprang a thick, white barrier. The membrane corded together, sturdier than the breached entrance mesh.

"When the next wave comes, this barrier will hide the remaining tunnel," Elazar said. "They can wade through half of the barrier, but their evil cannot withstand its light." He stumbled away from the wall.

Nuray ducked under his arm. "We need the planetary defenses."

Elazar nodded. "I will go."

"No," Nuray replied. "These wounds will fell you before you reach Korin's tomb."

Elazar sighed as he hobbled back toward their refuge. "You must go," he said to Nuray. "Leave me here and make haste to the watchtower."

"No, Elazar," Nuray said. "You freed me from my eternal sleep. By Isa's grace, you'll not die while I've the power to prevent it, and… you cannot walk the path of the Nine. You know that."

"Then who–?" Elazar glanced at Mariposa as her tigress avatar loped beside them. "Will… you go?"

Mariposa halted. "Me? Will my avatar's range extend far enough?"

"You cannot take your avatar," Nuray said. "You must rise from Phantom's heart and walk among the living again."

Mariposa hesitated, looking back at the Sentinels' corpses. A lump rose in her throat.

"If you do not go… we will be overrun. Not today, nor the next, but now that the Malha's Sentinels know where we are, they will not stop until they slay the last of the Nine." Nuray looked away. "Not even Yildirim, child though he is, will survive."

Mariposa's heart raced. The voices of the eight imprisoned Nine whispered their pleas to her from the depths of the network. "I… will go."

Nuray gestured for Mariposa to keep walking. "The traitor's tomb is but one marker along the journey."

"Isn't there a map I can follow?" Mariposa asked.

"No," Nuray replied. "It is too dangerous. If the Malha found it, we would lose all hope of recovering Phantom's defenses. Each waypoint houses directions to a single stop." She helped Elazar through the refuge's inner barrier and joined him on a stone bench. "Rise from your slumber." She pointed to Mariposa's body, floating in the central stasis chamber.

The refuge faded from sight as Mariposa sank back into her body. When she opened her eyes again, she looked out at the underground chamber through her pod's frosty walls.

Mariposa touched the clear tubing. It vanished, and she floated to the floor outside, lighting gently on her feet. She wobbled and almost fell but caught the edge of the pod's control station. Her long, light blue dress brushed the ground, and she noticed the weight of the crowning gem hung about her forehead. Red hair cascaded down past her waist.

"Come." Nuray beckoned her to sit with them.

Mariposa took a careful step. The world tilted but then righted itself. She sat beside Nuray.

"Each piece of information can only be retrieved by one of Guardiana's blood." Nuray reached for Constance's hand. "You are of our lineage."

Mariposa bit her lip and looked away. "I… know…"

Nuray squeezed her hand. "It is no shame."

"But the Malha–"

"Is your blood kin," Nuray finished. "To whom you are related means little. It is who you are that matters."

Mariposa looked into the woman's eyes and took a deep breath. "What about Elazar?"

Nuray let go of Constance's hand. She examined the gash in his side. "Infection is seeping in already," she said. "Help me dress this." Nuray settled to her knees and pointed to a locker near the entrance. "Supplies are in there."

Mariposa's vision blurred twice on her way to the locker but steadied as she returned to Nuray's side.

The woman eased off Elazar's ruined shirt. His medium blue skin muted the black sludge oozing from his side and shoulder. "The watchtower is your first waypoint to find Inac Star."

Mariposa handed Nuray a white box.

"Retrieve it." Nuray cleaned Elazar's wounds. "Once I and the rest of the Nine have the Star, we can reactivate the defense network and hold off the Sentinels until we find a way to eradicate them."

* * *

 **Author's Note:**

Hey, all. Finally got caught up on this week's post.

Next week, we're heading back to "Fortress of Evil" for Chapter 4, Assemble the Outcasts.

See you there,

*dtill359


	5. Chapter 4: Out of the Frying Pan

**Chapter 4: Out of the Frying Pan**

 _Move quickly, but do not over-pace yourself._ Nuray's words rang in Mariposa's ears as she set out from the mouth of the cave that led to the planet's core. It was late morning now. She pulled her hair back out of her face. Her pack was light, but she staggered under its weight.

 _Take the markers with you when you find them, was_ Nuray's instruction.

Mariposa checked one more time to make sure the short sword and gun Nuray gave her were in place.

 _Only Nesrin has walked this path before,_ Nuray told her earlier. But, of the eight slumbering Nine, Nesrin was the most deeply entrenched in the nether—not an accident, she was sure.

Mariposa took a deep breath. The Watchtower was her first stop. She headed North, along the path Nuray told her about. A few miles into her journey, she heard a sharp crack and skitter. She ducked into a nearby thicket. Her breath quickened, and her heart pounded. _What's out there_?

She peered through a jumble of green leaves. More sounds, crunchings and terrible growls and yelps ripped into the quiet forest. A pack of Sentinels broke through the undergrowth near her hiding place. She grimaced at the hideous creatures. Like the rest of the former men, each one wore tattered clothes, gray like their skin. Old weapons clanked around their waists.

This group was thicker than the raiding party and their savage gnashing made Mariposa want to cover her ears. Like a pride of rabid lions, they searched for prey to shred and devour.

She held her breath as the leader—its ugly head adorned with a plain, dented helmet—slunk on all fours through the tall grass. Its stub nose rose, nostrils flared wide as it sniffed.

Mariposa's stomach clenched as the thing scrabbled closer.

The Sentinel's tongue slithered from its thin, pasty lips, and its dull eyes fixed on her hiding place as taloned feet and hands crunched through a pile of shriveled leaves and dry twigs.

Mariposa squeezed her eyes shut, and her hand slipped to the laser pistol. The bare movement rustled a leaf beside her.

The Sentinel growled.

She froze.

The beast stared into her thicket. It raised a dirtied hand and flicked its red tongue.

A bird's cry bit the air and the Sentinel's head shot up. It roared at the bird and shot after it. His pack crashed after him. Mariposa caught a glimpse of falcon wings through a gap in the leaves.

She waited, her arms and legs stiff as she listened to the silence. When the sun moved toward evening, the sounds of birds and insects returned. Mariposa slipped out of the thicket. Cramps seized her right leg, and she limped fifty feet before the pain let up.

She shook her head at her plain, ill-fitting clothes. They once belonged to one of the Nine. Judging by the wide shoulders and baggy trousers, it was one of the men. Her thick traveling cloak, provided by Elazar, would keep her warm during Phantom's cooler seasonal shifts.

Sentinel packs ran thick near the entrance to Phantom's heart, and she skirted two more bands before she reached the edge of a thick wood. Just before she stepped into the trees, a hard wind gusted. The ground murmured as the first seasonal shift of the month swept through.

Tree leaves melted from green to vibrant orange, red, and yellow.

Mariposa saw it many times through her tigress avatar's eyes, but never with her own. When she first stepped onto Phantom, snow and ice blanketed the patch she landed in. Pockets of every season dotted the world—a small piece of Phantom's planetary defenses.

Now, as amber leaves fell around her, she watched furry squirrels and bright-breasted birds flit from tree to tree. A thin border, golden and crimson, lined the deer trail on either side. Mariposa's boots scattered the leaves.

Smells of maple and oak cascaded through the wood until she came to a clearing. A cloud of rot assaulted her. She threw her hand over her mouth and nose and gagged. Her eyes watered as she stared at a pile of fly-infested corpses.

 _Deer_. Their lolling tongues and missing eyes grabbed her. _That witch, Aurelia - my blood - created the Sentinels, and now… Phantom pays the price._

She touched her forehead where once a crowning jewel hung. Now it waited back in the Heart with Nuray and Elazar.

 _I don't want Aurelia's blood-soaked throne—or any throne_. She shook her head, shouldered her pack higher, and held her breath as she went around the dead deer.

Past the clearing and back into the trees, a rain of leaves floated down. Acorns plopped to the ground, tossed by chipmunks and squirrels. Tiny seed pods spun through the air like foxes chasing their fluffy tails.

A silver amulet weighed against Mariposa's chest. She pulled it out of her shirt. The face of the Malha Kyren Guardiana, a predecessor of Aurelia, imprisoner of the Nine, stared back.

She dropped the amulet back under her shirt. _What good can such an evil thing bring?_

As twilight's last rays disappeared behind the hilly horizon, Mariposa found a hollowed tree. There was just enough room for her to curl up inside. Before she tucked in, she dragged three downed branches to the entrance and pulled them across before she closed her eyes.

Her back and shoulders ached, and her feet felt like chunks of stone, but the need for rest drowned out everything else as she drifted into sleep.

* * *

Loud scraping gnawed at her ears.

Mariposa groaned.

The noise stopped, replaced by heavy breaths and low grunts.

 _Another Sentinel?_ Her hand curled around her gun grip.

A growl echoed through the hollow as the tree shook so hard Mariposa thought it would topple.

She snatched her pack and darted out. Her feet tangled in the branches she hauled over last night, and she tumbled. Dirt and pebbles ground into her hands, but she pushed off the ground and whirled in time to see a bear, almost twelve feet tall, marking the tree. Its sharp claws glinted in the dewy morning light.

A scream burst from her mouth.

The bear huffed and leaned away from the tree. It thudded to all fours and sent a quake through its heavy frame. With bared teeth, it roared and charged.

Mariposa ran. Cramps grabbed one leg, and she stumbled, but righted herself with a nearby trunk. A tree root jutted up in her path, and she soared over it as her pack jostled on her back. Stumps and saplings few by as the woods thinned. Up ahead, a boulder leaned over her path. She darted past it and shot a look back.

As the bear reached the rock, three Sentinels descended and tore into the animal's flesh with screeches and hungry wails.

She dashed through a knot of trees as her legs threatened to fail. Another glance back revealed a fourth Sentinel, ten feet away, its eyes fixed on her.

She fled. As she dodged trees, she switched directions over a dozen times. The boughs above grew dense, and thick trunks towered all around. Light spattered the ground, and she ran from patch to patch, as if its touch could protect her from the Sentinel's wrath.

Darkness wrapped the woods, and her sight failed. She crashed to the ground. Her pack flipped over her head and smacked into a tree three feet away. Mariposa fumbled for her gun. Scrambling talons, her ragged breaths and her heart's heavy pound filled her ears.

The Sentinel pounced.

She rolled and fired at the noise.

A dull thud, then nothing.

As her eyes adjusted, she crawled over to the downed Sentinel. Its glazed eyes lay open, dead. A charred hole blackened its chest.

She shook and plopped into the dirt. _I'm… not dead…_ She holstered the gun and struggled to her feet. Her pack lay in a patch of grass. She snagged it.

A stiff wind blew a chill through her. _Where am I?_ She looked up, then turned a circle. Only the Sentinel's corpse gave any indication of direction. _If only I had a light._

A stump squatted nearby. She sat on it and pulled out a strip of dried meat. The leathery texture turned her mouth dry, and she choked down a mouthful of tepid water. The jerky's pungent aftertaste soured her tongue. She didn't take a second bite.

Paralysis took over. Should she try to backtrack? Go onward and wander in this black wood until she starved? Mariposa held her head in her hands and wept.

Hours passed in silence and the air grew colder as night fell and the darkness hung thicker. Her legs still ached, but she forced them to move. She passed the Sentinel's corpse and stopped. A faint haze clouded her vision.

She looked down, expecting a clump of luminescent mushrooms or a glow slug, but the faint light came from beneath her shirt.

She pulled out the amulet as she took one step back and turned around. The glow brightened. Three more steps toward the heart of the forest rewarded her with more light.

Every mile, her way grew clearer. Night insects chirped and sang, and an owl hooted. Two hours she trekked. The trees hung low overhead. Their branches reached out to snap her hair and grasp her pack, but she shook them away.

Stars burst into view as she broke into another clearing. Her amulet still glowed, but Mariposa tucked it away as a tower cast its long shadow over her. _The Watchtower!_ She hurried through the wet grass to a narrow door in the rounded stone wall.

Mariposa dug through her pack and pulled out an old, brass key. The door clicked open, and she ducked inside. It was darker than the woods, but the light from her amulet provided enough light for her to see. To her left narrow stairs wound upward. To her right, another door stood ajar.

Mariposa investigated the room.

It was too dark to see much, and a thick coat of dust covered everything. She coughed as her footsteps brought up a cloud of dirt. She stepped out and pulled the door shut before she ascended the stairs. Her legs burned, and she stopped ten steps up.

She stared ahead. _This goes all the way up… doesn't it?_ She sighed, and her shoulders slumped. _One step at a time._

There were no windows, and empty torch hangers lined the walls. It took twenty minutes to reach the top. An old, wooden door creaked open to reveal a simple bed, chair and table on one side of the room. She didn't even look at the other.

Mariposa flung the dusty cover off the mattress and fell into the bed, using her bag as a pillow and her cloak as a blanket to ward off the slight chill seeping through the closed, wide window beside the bed. She was asleep in half a minute.

* * *

When she awoke the next morning, she discovered a fireplace installed in the opposite wall. She pulled out Nuray's instructions.

Somewhere in the tower was something to direct her farther along the Path of the Nine.

Mariposa studied the room for any obvious clues. She crouched and peered under the short bed, but all she saw was dust bunnies and one little gray mouse who didn't acknowledge her.

She sighed and stood. The next stop was the fireplace. The thin mantle stood empty. She touched every stone in the fireplace frame, but none of them were loose enough to hide anything, and she found no secret levers or triggers.

She searched every inch of the walls but found nothing. A loose panel in the floor revealed a rope and a handful of strange stones. Curious, she pulled the contents out and tucked the rope into her pack. She studied the stones. They were small, about half the size of a bird's egg, and smooth. Each one sparkled a different color in the light. She put them away too and slung her bag back up on the bed.

Her stomach rumbled. She thought about the dried meat from yesterday and grimaced. Instead, she headed downstairs and went into the room she'd seen last night. By the amulet's glow she spied a torch and flint near the door.

Mariposa lit it and held up the extra light. Shadows danced in the dimness, and she tucked her amulet away. Six more torches, these already hung, ringed the room, so she lit them and set the one in her hand in a seventh hanger near an old water pump at the back of the room.

Sturdy pots and pans lined two tall cabinets, but there was no food. She tested the pump and smiled when cool, clear water spurted into its trough. She grabbed a cup and washed out the crusted dirt. Then she filled it and gulped down three cups of water.

Her hunger abated, and she poked around the kitchen again. A flat stove-top sat in the middle of the room, dirty and black. An ancient, brick oven nestled in the far wall. She opened the front panel and peered inside, but it was so dark she couldn't see anything past six inches into the maw.

 _Why aren't there any windows down h–? Oh… Sentinels,_ she thought.

She shone the amulet into the space—nothing but clumpy piles of ash. Mariposa sighed, closed the oven door, and resumed her search of the kitchen.

A day and a half later, when she'd touched every brick in the tower, she dragged back to the small bed and collapsed.

Sunlight warmed her face, and Mariposa stirred. She looked out the window. Mid-day. With a groan, she stretched her tired arms and legs and sat up. Her stomach grumbled, unhappy with its two-day fast.

A sweet, familiar scent snatched her attention.

On the small table near the foot of the bed, a plate sat with two thick slices of bread, still steaming. A tin of honey and a tall cup of water accompanied it.

Mariposa's mouth watered.

 _How did…?_ Her brow furrowed.

She headed down the winding stairs as she gripped her gun. She tiptoed to the kitchen door, took a deep breath and barged in, weapon raised. Everything sat just as it should. Hers were the only footprints, and there was still no food.

Puzzled, she returned to the tower room and sat on the bed. As she pulled out her half-eaten strip of meat, she stared at the bread and pretended she was eating it instead of the jerky. The bitter taste banished that fantasy, and she drank warm water from her stash.

 _If only I knew it was safe…_ She scooted down the bed and gave one fluffy slice a cautious tap. _Just one little bite,_ she told herself and dipped a small chunk in the honey tin.

Flavor exploded in her mouth, but she forced herself to wait before eating more. She kept an eye on the sun. When an hour passed without any indication of trouble, she pulled the table around the bed. Seated on the mattress, legs curled under her, she devoured the food.

She caught a flutter of white feathers near the window, now open.

She whipped around but saw nothing. _Probably a dove._

* * *

Three more days flew by. Every morning, Mariposa woke to the smell of bread and honey, and every evening she returned to the tower room to find the same. The kitchen remained undisturbed, and she never saw anyone in or around the tower except the occasional group of Sentinels.

She scoured the tower over twenty times, inside and out. When that proved fruitless, she searched the clearing, but still found nothing.

Defeated, she collapsed onto the bed. Tears streamed down her cheeks as she stared up at the ceiling. _If I can't find this one little thing, how am I ever going to make it all the way there?_ She wiped her face on her long sleeve. _Elazar—Nuray—everyone's waiting for me, and I can't–_ She rolled over and sobbed into the mattress. _I wasted a week already and can't even find one little piece!_

She smacked her fists into the bed. "Why?!" She wailed into the silence.

 _I wish…_ The faces of old friends came to her: David, with his goofy grin and clumsy kindness; Garen, the man who would do anything for her or her mother; Eliora and her sincere heart; and Masterson with his constant reminders from the words of Adonai.

A rustle startled her, and she looked up in time to glimpse a white wing, but the bird flapped out of sight before she could get a good look at it. _Must be an owl_ , she thought as starlight sprinkled the room.

 _A lamp to my feet, and a light to my path_. A phrase Masterson often said echoed in the quietness.

She clutched her amulet. Warmth spread through her fingers and cut into the chill night. Mariposa sat up to close the window, but just as she swung one pane into place, a bird swooped in and lighted on the mantle.

Mariposa scooted to the opposite end of the bed, startled. She recognized it—a falcon.

The bird tilted its head at her and blinked its bright eyes. With a squawk it tapped one taloned foot.

She raised an eyebrow as the falcon's feet hovered four inches above the mantle, its claws dug into thin air. Mariposa eased off the bed and inched toward the bird. She raised the amulet to get a better look at the falcon's feet. It tapped a foot again, but this time Mariposa caught a faint clink.

The loose board creaked, and the bird darted back out the window.

She touched the spot in question. Instead of thin air, her hand found purchase. She ran her fingers over a long, thin object. When she found the edges, she picked it up.

A crystal, clear as air and light as a breath sat in her palm. By the amulet's light, she studied it. The top and sides were smooth, but on the bottom was an etching—a headstone—and a row of words she couldn't read.

"Heilel's grip weakens."

Mariposa whirled. Her hand flew to her gun.

"Who are you?" she demanded as she leveled her weapon at the stranger. "And what are you doing in this tower?"

* * *

 **Author's Note** :

After a couple long weeks, I'm thrilled to finally be able to post this chapter.

Once again, it's great to see everyone who reads this story, as it's a bit off the beaten path with its incorporation of original cast and characters from _Bolar Wars_ , _New Voyage_ and _Be Forever_ , but it's proven to be a challenging and fun piece so far.

Next week, we're finally back to _Fortress of Evil_ for Episode 5, Into the Land of Trouble.

See you all there.

*dtill359


	6. Chapter 5: Where There's Smoke

**Chapter 5: Where There's Smoke**

Mariposa tucked the clear stone into her pocket and took aim at the man's too-near face. He didn't budge. "Who are you?" she demanded again.

The man smiled without a trace of fear. "Did you like the bread? A friend told me you might."

Mariposa gritted her teeth and held her ground, determined not to remain unenchanted by the stranger's pleasant words or noble presence. A faint glow emanated around him, but she accounted that to sleep-hazed vision.

"The local honey is so much better than what you will find elsewhere on Phantom," he said. "In fact–"

"Be quiet! Tell me who are you are right now, or I'll shoot you."

"Who I am is of no consequence."

"Where were you hiding?"

"Hiding? I have not hidden myself from you. It is only now your eyes are opened. I have roamed this tower since your arrival, but for most of that time I waited here, in this room. I hoped you would be aware of my presence before now, but Shaddai does as He wills."

Mariposa snorted at his assertion. A six-and-a-half-foot man lingering in a corner was impossible to miss.

"I am the keeper of this tower," he said. "Shaddai commands it made ready for another. Her arrival draws nigh."

"So, you didn't really come here because of me. Are you taking refuge from the Sentinels? How do I know you aren't one of that witch's lackeys?"

The stranger gave a soft chuckle. "Shaddai is not so easily hindered, child. No one—much less a witch—can stop Him. I know why you came here, Princess Mariposa. Be not dismayed. Shaddai will guide your feet along the Path of the Nine, for the coming of the Chosen is His will."

"Chosen?"

The stranger smiled. "You will understand in time, Constance. Until then, fight with all your being for Phantom's blighted soul. Heilel believes this world is his, but Shaddai knows far better than he."

"I don't understa–"

"The grave you seek—Korin's Tomb—lies far south, amidst a foul swamp."

Her hands tightened around the gun. "Why should I believe you?"

"The words etched on the back of the diamond–" He nodded toward Mariposa's pocket. "–they read, 'Naphtali: struggle and strife.'"

Sweat wetted her hands. _How did he…?_

"I know what Shaddai wills me to know," he said.

"You still haven't answered my question." Mariposa met the man's steady blue eyes.

"Trust is a thing not easily given. I do not expect to receive yours. Not yet." He headed down the stairs, but Mariposa heard no footsteps.

"Wait!" She hurried to catch him as he disappeared out the door. Just as she reached the threshold, a whisper of white wings vanished around the bend in the stairs. Mariposa hurried down the first fifty steps and stopped.

The stairwell fell silent, the stranger gone.

* * *

Sleep refused to come. Every five minutes Mariposa woke and checked for the stranger, but each time, the room was empty.

An hour before dawn exhaustion overtook her, but when morning's warm rays graced her face, she woke to find her pack resupplied and her water stores doubled. She fished out an unfamiliar flask and opened it. One long sniff and she recognized the thick, pleasant aroma of honey.

An hour later she hefted her pack and trekked down the long stairwell. Still no sign of the stranger. At the bottom of the stairs she unbarred and unlocked the tower door. With one last look inside the dim entryway, Mariposa clicked the door shut and locked it.

She headed South, just as the stranger instructed. Throughout the day she dodged half a dozen Sentinel bands. Each group marched toward the tower, and every Sentinel carried a weapon. More questions tumbled through Mariposa's mind each time she encountered another batch of the Malha's servants. Who were these Chosen the stranger mentioned? Was their arrival imminent? What about the woman he was preparing the tower for? Was she in need of refuge from the Malha too? And what about the defense network? Could she get it working before the Chosen's arrival?

Through thick woods and sparse clearings, she forged. A week passed, then ten days. On the sixteenth evening a foul reek greeted her, but she was glad for it.

The woods darkened as she neared the swamp, and its odor thickened and bubbled up from a scraggy shore. She found a place not covered in muck and set her pack down. Using limber switches, she built a shelter just big enough to house herself and her pack.

She tucked into the shelter and took out a little book. In it she scribbled the events of the past few days by the light of her amulet. The book was her insurance—in case one day she had to retrace her steps or explain to someone else how to follow the same route.

As she settled in for a nap beneath the camouflaged hut, she pictured the stranger's face again. His eyes, so full of warmth and life, reminded her of her friend Masterson, and she smiled.

She fell asleep with her pack tucked against her stomach and her cloak spread out as a blanket against the swamp's chilling damp.

A few hours passed, and she snapped awake to sharp howls.

 _Wolves!_

Their paws thudded on the swamp shore. Inside her shelter, Mariposa lay still. She held her breath until the howling faded, but just as she sat up, a shadow approached her hiding place and snuffled at the entrance. A growl chilled her, and she grabbed her amulet to hide its light. The wolf howled again, its call reaching out over the swamp to the rest of the pack.

Mariposa hugged her pack close and reached for her gun as the animal pawed at the branch-covered entrance.

The beast howled again, but the call died in a strangled gurgle.

She scrambled away, her back flush with the shelter's rear wall, as the wolf's body disappeared, dragged off by something bigger.

Wails and screams flooded the little patch of swamp. Mariposa wanted to cover her ears and curl up in a hole until the slaughter ended. But when another shadow appeared outside, this one the tall, thin outline of a Sentinel, she dug through the back of the shelter. Outside, the creatures tore apart the wolves with ravenous blood-thirst.

Taking tight hold of her pack, Mariposa looked for another place to hide.

A brown streak darted past. A dear! It raced through the chaos and leapt into the swamp. Its hooves lighted on one solid patch after another, and it traced a narrow path out past the unsteady shore.

The Sentinel that dragged away the howler had its back to her. Mariposa ran. She dashed past the creatures to the swamp's edge and leapt onto the same patch as the fleeing dear. Angry roars followed her as she hopped across the swamp. A hundred feet in, she dared a glance toward shore.

Three Sentinels waded neck-deep into the muck. And they went no further. The trio writhed and wailed for help as the mire grabbed at their horrible faces and held them down. Mariposa turned away as the dying beasts fought for one more breath before they drowned.

She managed to keep the deer in sight long enough to reach a small island. This far from shore she couldn't hear the Sentinels—a relief. The instant she stepped onto the island thick fog rolled in and spread through the rest of the swamp. In half a minute, Mariposa couldn't see more than two feet in any direction. She swatted at the fog. Ten steps took her to solid, dry ground. She found a row of thick bushes and, with them to shield her from sight, she collapsed, spent.

* * *

In the morning she woke to find the deer from the night before chomping tufts of wire grass nearby. The creature eyed her as it took another bite. When she sat up, it bolted. The deer leapt out into the swamp, and, just like before, it bounded from patch to patch, never once dirtying its pristine coat.

Mariposa groaned. Her legs ached from the night's chase, but not as much as they had when she began her journey. She stretched until the pain eased.

 _What… is that?_ She saw what the night's fog obscured. _Is this… Korin's Tomb?_

Instead of the simple gravestone she'd expected, a ten-foot tall crypt jutted from the island's center. Its door looked down at Mariposa and offered her a story. Engraved in the stone were three wide panels. Each depicted an unfamiliar scene.

In the first, a woman held a glowing amulet out to a man who knelt before her. He accepted the gift, but a group of twelve others cowered in the background.

The second panel showed the man—who she decided was probably Korin—as he pleaded with the twelve. He held out the amulet, but the others shunned his offering.

Panel three, nearest the ground, lacked part of the image, but from what she saw, Mariposa understood enough. Korin held an open box out to the woman who gave him his amulet. She reached in and picked up three objects.

Mariposa leaned closer to the image and held up her own amulet to better see the carving.

She blanched and retreated. In the woman's hands were three severed hearts. _The Nine were once twelve… Then Korin slaughtered three of them and offered their hearts to the Malha._ With one steadying breath, Mariposa grabbed the ornate door handle. It rattled but didn't open.

Out of her pack she fished the tower key and held her breath as she worked it into the keyhole. Click. The door creaked open, and she stepped into the silent crypt.

Steep stairs took her down to a narrow room. Small cubicles, all but two of which were web-ridden, lined the walls. The two occupied cubes drew her. She shrank away from the first as she recognized the box from the engraving; ancient blood still stained it. The second shelf housed a key. She tucked it away and faced the coffin that stood at the room's center.

Unlike the crypt door, the coffin was unadorned save for a seal stamped into the lid—a roaring bear, wreathed in withered flowers.

Mariposa approached the old, stone box and whisked thick dust off the lid. She circled the coffin. A blood-red line sealed the box, but in places the seal faltered. She held the amulet up to one bare patch and something inside the coffin glimmered.

She stepped back. _Should I open it?_ One glance at the blood-stained box banished her reservations, and she gave the lid a good heave. The seal crumbled as the stone cover shifted two-and-a-half feet.

Inside the coffin lay a skeleton, old and brittle. All its bones were intact and clutched in its hands lay a sword and a shield covered in dust. Curious, she pried each find from Korin's bones. She wiped the dust from the shield and discovered another insignia, this one of a lion ringed in blossoming roses. The sword and its scabbard bore the same mark. As she hefted its pommel, she noted the sword's weight and admired its balance—much better than her own weapon's.

Both implements were lighter than expected, and she started to put them back. But when she set the shield inside the coffin, the lion's eyes seemed to stare at her, and the rose ring almost danced in the amulet's glow.

She sighed and hauled the sword and shield up to the surface where she strapped them onto her pack. They were quite dirty, but she decided to clean them later. Swamp water was little good for cleaning.

A quick break, some water and food gave her more energy, and she began her search for the second waypoint clue. Another clear stone would be impossible to find in the dirt and muck.

Each piece of the crypt's structure looked like the last as Mariposa examined the exterior. What should she look for? She touched every stone and mortar line with care. When that yielded nothing, she dug into the mud around the crypt's foundation. Still nothing.

When she circled around to the front door again, it was mid-afternoon, and patches of gray clouds cleared enough to make the crypt look a little less depressing.

Mariposa sank to her knees at the base of the door and looked up. A ray of sunshine peeked through a cloud gap and warmed her cold lips and nose. She closed her eyes and savored the small relief. When it passed, she rose and dusted off her clothes.

The light fell on a spot just above the door. A crimson flicker! Once hidden in the misty darkness, a red stone glimmered, its thin, rectangular outline identical to the stone in Mariposa's bag. She grabbed the biggest rock she could move and scooted it to the door where she hopped up and studied the stone. A faint inscription—writing, and another etching—adorned the stone's back.

Sword in hand, she pried the stone from its setting. When it popped out, she caught it.

The writing was in the same foreign script as the first stone's, but this etching depicted a bridge.

 _There might be a hundred thousand bridges on this planet…_ She sat down hard on the boulder and buried her face in her hands as a headache set in.

Day turned to night. Mariposa considered sleeping inside the crypt, but the thought of that blood-stained box made her shiver. She wondered if any of the dead hearts still lingered inside it.

She curled up in her spot behind the bushes, glad for her thick cloak as a chill wind whispered over the island. At least she was safe from the Sentinels here.

A faint swishing broke her light sleep. She lay frozen, listening. It came once more. A boat oar? Again, the whisper of water against wood floated across the still swamp.

In silence she shouldered her pack, careful not to jostle the extra sword and shield. She carried them just inside the crypt door and crawled in before she pulled the door shut all but two inches. Through the open sliver she watched.

The whisper came louder until Mariposa saw its source. A narrow boat passed the island. Its handler, cloaked in a dark hood, stood tall. Five seconds passed between each row of his single, thin oar. In the darkness she couldn't see his hands, but the faint scratch of long nails biting into wood grated on her ears.

The figure sailed past the island and started into the swamp again.

Mariposa sighed.

The boatman whirled, and a pair of blood-red eyes shone from beneath the hood, staring straight at her. With one sweep, he turned the boat islandward.

She wanted to scream. The crypt door thumped shut, and she scrambled down the stairs. She hid behind the coffin. Each ragged breath tore at her nerves as the rowing quickened and drew nearer.

 _Trapped! What is that thing?!_ She vaulted up and scurried around the crypt. Cobwebs, that wretched box–Mariposa stopped. A blank wall…? At the crypt's back, a narrow swath ran between two rows of cubicles. By the amulet's glow she spied a loose stone. She wriggled the rock out of place and peered into the shallow hole. At the back of the recess was a narrow slot. Mariposa fumbled for the key in her pocket—the one she found on the shelf earlier. She stuffed it into the hole and prayed.

It fit.

The wall creaked open, and Mariposa shoved her pack through the gap. She slipped into the darkness just as she heard the crypt door creak open and heavy footsteps descend the stairs. The thin panel swung shut, and she held her breath as a terrible scratching ripped away pieces of her sanity. It grew so loud she could almost feel her stalker scratching at the wall she leaned against.

 _I forgot to replace the stone!_

Clicking emanated through the keyhole, and Mariposa caught the clank-clack of a claw as it groped the lock.

A burst of light shone from her amulet and illuminated twenty feet ahead. What Mariposa first thought was a small room was the entryway to a long tunnel. She ran, heedless of the sharp echoes her steps drilled through the darkness. With her first movement, an enraged wail tore through the space. As her amulet's light faded, all she could see ahead was a black, never-ending tunnel.

Her stalker screeched and scraped, but the dreaded sound of an opening door never came.

Though reasonably sure the creature couldn't follow, she pressed on, for fear the thing would find another way to get into the tunnel. Hours later a dead-end greeted her, but on the wall hung a short ladder. She peered at the ceiling. A handle dangled from an old, wooden door.

She swung up the ladder and pushed the trapdoor open. Through a two-inch slit she peered outside. Morning graced the swamp shore. The air stank, but there was more light here and less terror in the air.

Seeing nothing threatening, she climbed out. All around stood stones, some half-sunk into the muddy soil. She looked from the rocks to the trapdoor then dragged half a dozen large stones over the exit.

 _I'm not risking you finding a way to get through._ The stalker's red eyes pierced her memory. She shook the image away and dusted off her hands.

Miles away mountains rose, a dense fog hiding their peeks.

 _The bridge in the etching! It was a rope bridge—not like something built over a river or a stream._ She dug out the second stone. _It could span a chasm._ _And where better to find a chasm… than a mountain?_

The lion-crested sword and shield rattled as she shouldered her pack and set out in search of her next waypoint. Every few steps she glanced back at the swamp, just in case.

* * *

 **Author's Note:**

Hope everyone (who celebrated) had a great Thanksgiving.

Next update, we'll be going back to "Fortress of Evil" for episode six, "This Broken Reed." Also, keep an eye out for a new short story, "Save One Candle for Me."

Happy reading and writing,

*dtill359


	7. Chapter 6: Out of Hand

**Chapter 6: Out of Hand**

Dara opened a mirror app on her comm. _Good. The mask's still working._ She exited the ship just after Muska. _Seventy-five percent desert._ She shivered. _Glad this is the other quarter._

Farmlands sprawled farther than the horizon, and the smell of livestock permeated the air. Dara admired rows of green cornstalks and fields of wheat. "This is Gamilon-controlled space, isn't it?" she said.

Muska descended the boarding ramp. "Yes."

Dara locked the ship. _That should keep everyone out until we get back._ The sun smiled on them, and a warm breeze gusted Dara's short bangs into her eyes. _I hope we're not here long. Too many open spaces._

Other ships disembarked nearby. Other Gamilons—at least, they looked like Gamilons with their blue skin and dark hair—filed out. They chatted and laughed. Each one greeted Dara and Muska as the group left the landing area, a bare patch a mile square.

 _No black eyes._ Dara sighed. _At least those crazies near Horesh aren't here too._

Muska's deep prints left a clear trail in the dirt walking path. His broad frame blocked half the path, and a faint rattle rang with each of his steps.

She scuffed at the marks and filled several halfway.

The tops of a dozen short buildings and traffic's low buzz greeted them. Aircars hummed and public transports whizzed past. _Didn't expect vehicles this nice in a place with dirt roads._ A modest cargo hauler parked outside a store, and a family of five exited the vehicle.

Shrubs lined the streets and cobbled road-side lanes provided pedestrians decent footpaths.

As Dara and Muska left the shopping district, one building marked, "Rentals" stopped Dara.

"Come on," she tugged Muska's arm. "This is what we need."

He followed.

"How may I be of assistance?" A robot appeared behind the desk.

"We need a vehicle, small, fast," said Dara as she leaned on the counter. "But not too hard on the pocket-book."

The robot displayed several choices. Dara flipped through them and chose a black two-door with a small luggage compartment on the back.

"A good choice," said the robot. "How long will your rental be?"

Dara tapped her chin. "Make it sixteen days."

"Please sign."

A rental agreement appeared on the counter. Dara pretended to read it. _Oh no… what name should I use? Well, I guess there's no reason not to use Dara. And…_ She fished for a surname no one would blink at. _Yosef._

"Will this be credit or currency?"

Dara took out a card. "Currency."

The robot took the card, scanned it, and handed it back. "Very good. Your vehicle is out front. Have a pleasant day."

Dara led Muska to the air car and slipped into the driver's seat.

Muska raised an eyebrow.

"Hey! I can drive." She motioned him into the car. "You'll get your chance behind the wheel. We've got a lot of road to cover before the rental expires."

Muska sat, bag in hand.

"Wouldn't you rather put that in the back?"

"No." Muska kept his eyes on the road as Dara eased into traffic.

"Whatever. But remember I asked when you want to complain about having no cabin space."

"I will not complain."

An hour into their journey, fields transitioned to pastures. Horses, cattle of all kinds, long-legged birds, and animals Dara didn't recognize grazed or ate from troughs.

She checked the area map. "I still don't understand why you won't let me put out a public ad. It would be more effective."

"It's too dangerous."

"And knocking on strangers' doors isn't?"

"It is. But much less."

Dara shook her head. "First house is on the left. This farm is over two hundred acres! How do they manage all that land?"

"Machines."

Muska's eyes never left the road as Dara parked at the bottom of a low hill. A large house topped the rise.

"Come on." She beckoned Muska. "This _was_ your idea."

The pair approached the house as Dara scrolled through several images on a little device. _This one._ She enlarged a nice photo of her daughter taken several years ago. _Oh, Connie… that smile still brightens my day. I just wish you were here with me to share it again._

Dara knocked.

"Hello?" a young man—around fourteen—answered.

"Hello. I'm sorry. We're not from around here," Dara said.

The boy's eyes roamed to Muska, and he slid the door half-closed.

"I'm looking for this girl." Dara held out the image. "Have you seen her?"

The boy examined the picture. His eyes sparked with admiration, but not recognition. "Sorry."

"What about your parents? Siblings?"

"Pretty sure they haven't seen her either." He glanced at Muska again and edged the door three-quarters closed.

"Wait!" Dara flipped to another image. "What about this woman?" Aurelia's face burned into the screen.

The boy's expression morphed from curiosity to dread. "No. Have a good afternoon." He shut the door.

With a sigh, Dara trudged to the vehicle. "I think you should stay in the car at the next house. Make yourself useful and see if there are any reports that fit Constance's description—or Aurelia's."

Muska nodded. As soon as his door shut, he began his task.

The next family didn't know anything about Constance, but Dara received a door shut in her face when she displayed Aurelia's image.

That evening, as they passed the last house of the night, Muska said, "No reports."

"We'll start again tomorrow." She checked the map. _Good, a boarding house._ She drove another five miles and pulled into the establishment's below-ground parking area. "We're staying here tonight."

Muska didn't get out of the vehicle.

"I didn't mean in the car. Get out."

Muska eyed the dark end of the parking area.

"Come on, or I'll leave you here." Dara took a lift from the parking section to the surface. Simple lamps lined the path to the door. _Just stars here… No moons. I still remember those years in the mountains—back on Gamilon. When both moons were full, the sky exploded with light and every patch of ground glowed._

As she and Muska entered the boarding house, two other guests followed them inside. Others milled about the foyer. Fatigue etched each face, but everyone possessed an air of satisfaction. _They must take great pride in their work here—working so hard to provide food for so many people._

 _Sometimes I wish this life was mine. No Cometine princes, people trying to make me their ruler, or witches kidnapping my child._ She slipped behind a young man at the back of the check-in line. Muska put his back to her and watched the door.

"First time here?" said the young man.

"I'm sorry?"

"Your clothes. Most people don't wear dark colors and long sleeves in the summer," he said.

"Oh, that… Yes. I wasn't sure of the weather."

"The Governor never updates the weather information on the orbital broadcast." He shook his head. "Hey, nice ring. You get it at one of those stores that does Telzarti replications?"

"What? Oh, this. No, it was… a gesture of good-will from someone I helped."

"Ah," said the young man.

"Sir, may I help you?" the hostess interrupted.

"Gotta go. Have a good rest of your trip." He approached the counter.

"Rumor is the Leader's dead," said a nearby woman surrounded by three others. "There's tell of Prime Minister Talan taking his place, but he doesn't want the position."

 _Masterson! He made it back to Gamilon!_ Dara's heart leapt.

" _I_ heard the lost princess appeared for a while, then vanished again," said another woman.

 _I didn't vanish. I left._

"That old story's just that—a story," said a man.

"No, it isn't. She exists!"

"Right." The man crossed his arms and rolled his eyes. "Show her to me, and I'll believe it."

"Good evening," said the hostess.

Dara approached the counter, and Muska's heavy steps clomped as he followed her.

"May I register you a room?"

"Two, please," Dara said as she fingered Goru's ring. _Got to put that on another finger._

"Here you are." The hostess presented two key passes. "Two rooms on the second floor. Meal information is posted in your rooms. Have a good stay."

Dara handed Muska his key as they took the stairs. She left him at his door and sighed as she plunked onto her bed. A set of plain nightclothes lay folded on the pillow. _A little big._ She shook them out. _But they'll do. At least I can get out of these clothes for the night._ She showered, changed, and crawled in bed. Constance's face filled her mind as she fell asleep.

A strange dream haunted her. Someone came into her room and stared at her as she slept.

Dara shook awake. "Muska!" she demanded in a loud whisper. "What are you _doing_ in here?"

He held a finger to his lips.

Light footsteps in the hall strode away.

"That's probably just someone who can't sleep," she whispered.

Muska tensed. "I wish to stand guard here for the rest of the night."

"No! Get out of my room." Dara shooed him and pulled the covers closer.

Muska still wore his street clothes. "Very well." He stepped out and closed the heavy door. His footsteps clumped in the hall but didn't go past her door.

 _He's going to stand out there all night, isn't he…?_ She sank back into bed. _At least I won't have to worry about anyone else getting in._ The top of a tree shadowed the room's only window. _Too far up for most people to get in._

She rolled over and closed her eyes, but the phantom echo of footsteps refused to leave her alone.

* * *

In the morning, Dara tucked the nightclothes into a laundry bag folded on the bedside table. As she stepped into the hall, she bumped into Muska. "Oh, so you _are_ still here."

He stepped aside.

"No more ghosts out for some air?" She raised an eyebrow.

"We're being followed."

Dara shook her head. "No one on this backwater planet wants to follow us."

"Perhaps they aren't from this world."

A twinge of uncertainty sparked doubt. "All right… Let's get breakfast downstairs."

Muska followed, bag still perched on his back. He sat with her and eyed the other guests as she wolfed down a stack of hotcakes topped with honey and sweet glaze.

"Sure you don't want any?" she said.

"I'm fine."

Breakfast over, they turned in their keys and left.

Halfway to the parking area, Muska leaned against a tree and winced. "I'm sorry. I'll be back." He limped toward the boardinghouse. "Get to the vehicle and wait."

She hid a smirk. _Got leg cramps from standing in the hall all night?_ Dara took the lift to the underground lot, found the car, and got in.

Half an hour passed. Then an hour, then three.

 _Is he okay?_

The sun's glow just peeked down from the entrance on the floor above.

 _Where are you? I hate to say it, but it's strange not to have you here._

A rap at the window startled her.

"Ma'am, your parking permit expired a half-hour ago," said a young man in a strange uniform.

 _Must be the local traffic authorities. Do they have nothing better to do than comb parking areas?_ She thought about everything she saw the day before. _All right… maybe they_ don't.

She rolled the window down. "I'm sorry. I'm waiting for my friend. He–"

A sharp knock cracked her head from behind, and the world vanished.

* * *

A hard jar woke Dara.

 _What in all the universe…?_ She tried to move. _Tied. Great._ She struggled against the bonds, but the cold kiss of metal bit her wrists. _Chains. Of course._

Darkness masked the room. _This place is… moving?_ She strained to listen. _A transport?_ Dara tucked her legs beneath her and pushed but crashed to the floor before she could stand.

"Don't bother. You can't get out," said a voice from the nearest shadowed corner.

"W-who's there?"

A woman shifted from the shadows. "Sakania." She gave Dara a mocking bow. "Until we say so, you'll remain here."

Dara shivered as Sakania's eyes glowed black. _Muska was right!_ "We…?"

"Time you returned what you stole." Sakania crouched and sneered. She took Dara's chin in a firm hand. "We know you have it."

Dara bit back, "The ring was payment for a job."

"Really? I thought it was 'a gesture of good-will.'" Sakania smirked.

 _The boy at the boardinghouse! He was one of them!_

"No matter," Sakania dismissed. "You know that isn't what I'm talking about. Hand it over."

"I don't know–"

"The key, thief! The key!"

"I don't have it!" Dara replied. "You've searched me, surely. You know I don't have a key in my pockets."

"You really _don't_ know, do you? Thinking of a literal key," she scoffed. "You Galmans are exactly alike—simple and hard-headed."

"Galman?" _Muska used that word too._ "I'm from Gamilon."

"Oh, right. Of course." Sakania nodded, but a dusky light glowed in her eyes and hid a smirk. "If you don't have it, maybe your watchdog does." Sakania disappeared.

Light appeared at the other end of the transport. _A door?_ Sakania's shadow darkened the frame and another voice—a man's rose above the transport's engines. _What language is that? Too harsh to be Cometine, and not so casual as Eratite._

Sakania returned and framed Dara's face in her hands. "Time to be quiet." She blew a soft breath over Dara."When you wake, you'll have a new host—one not as subtle as I am."

A thin mist fogged Dara's mind. _What kind of people are these…?_

* * *

 _What…? Where am I now?_ Dara shook away the last of the fog. _We're not moving. No more transport. It's so dark! Do these people have no concept of lights?_

Furniture dotted the room, and in the far corner glowed a tiny orange orb. It winked on and off and confounded Dara's vision. She sucked in a deep breath.

The glow vanished.

She stifled a gasp as it reappeared six feet away.

"Ah, if it isn't Muska's pet."

 _Wait—a person?_

He drew nearer, and his blue and black eyes bored through her. _Like the man on the ship we shot at._ Dara glared.

"He's gone soft in his old age."

 _Old age? Was Muska telling the truth about being centuries old…?_

"The fool kept it, I suppose," said the man.

"For that _last_ time, I don't know what you want!" Dara growled. "Let me go!"

The man wagged his finger. "I don't think so. Not until the traitor bring back what he stole."

"The key?" said Dara.

"So, you do know of it," said the man.

"Only that you won't stop talking about the thing," Dara retorted.

The man grinned. "For good reason." He returned to his corner with no explanation.

Hours passed and stillness blanketed the room.

 _Will he never move? Or leave?_

Fatigue took her, and Dara slept until Sakania brought her food and water.

As she ate, the man on the other side of the room didn't look at her. Sakania took the empty plate and slipped past the man, but he remained still as stone.

* * *

 _How long now? Two days? I think… It's so hard to tell in here, and the walls—they feel closer. I've got to get out of here—find Connie! Crazy men looking for a strange key won't stop me._

She struggled against the chains for the hundredth time. Her arms and legs ached, and the small movements shot pain through her. An itch invaded her scalp and the urge to scratch demanded attention. Dara scraped her head against the wall for some relief.

A crash outside.

The man in the corner darted to the door as two others burst in. Each one secured one of Muska's arms and a third man followed, the treasured metal box in hand.

Muska fought, but when he saw Dara, relief flowed over him and his attention shifted to the man with the orange glow.

 _Oh, it's a badge on his shoulder._ She realized as light from the door fell on him.

"Deda," said Muska.

"Muska." Dead nodded. "I didn't think you'd be so clumsy as to let yourself get caught."

Muska glared. "Let the woman go. She has nothing to do with this."

"Astragon says otherwise," Deda countered.

"What dealings have you with the King of Dreams, Deda?" Muska challenged. "The universe hasn't seen his kind in centuries."

"Enough," Deda growled. He handled the metal crate. As Deda popped the latch Muska threw his captors off balance and kicked the box away before he flipped the duo and slammed them into the floor with a thunderous clang.

The rend of bent metal stung Dara's ears, and she winced.

Deda leapt back.

Muska pointed an open palm at each of the two grounded men and watched the third as well as Deda. Muska's hands glowed violet as the other men charged him.

Deda grabbed for the crate, but Muska's eyes shone intense purple, and the crate slid to Dara's side.

 _What do I do?_

Deda barreled toward her, intent on the box.

"Protect the key!" Muska bellowed. "If we cannot, millions will die!"

Deda dove for the crate just as Dara heaved both stiff legs and corralled the box against the wall.

"Give it to me!" Deda jerked her away, but she clamped the box between her knees.

"Don't think so." She squared herself between the man and his intended prize. "You kidnap me, lock me up and keep me in a dark room for days. I'm not doing anything you say!"

Deda growled. "Foolish woman! Hand it over, or I'll kill you."

His tone chilled her. _Would he… really kill me…? For this little box?_

Powerful hands clamped her throat, and she struggled for air.

"Why… don't… you… take… it…?" she managed.

"Surrender it!" Deda demanded.

"I… won't…" She smirked. "I… think… it… has to be… given to you… You… won't… kill me…"

Deda snarled and tightened his grip.

* * *

 **Author's Note:**

All right! Got to post two days early! Always nice to have time to do that.

So, anyone care to guess who this Astragon character is? We'll be seeing more of him farther down the road when we hit _Nachashim ha Rakiah_.

Next time, it's Fortress of Evil, Episode 7: Ordained of Old, which will post on or before April 30th.

Until then,

*dtill359


	8. Chapter 7: Speak of the Devil

**Chapter 7: Speak of the Devil**

Dara kicked and fought, but Deda squeezed until her throat threatened collapse.

 _No! Not like this!_ She punched both knees into his gut. The corner of the box clanged against Deda. _I could let him have it. What good is a sealed box to me if I'm dead?_ Vision grayed, and black fringed the world. Dara's grip on the box weakened but didn't break.

 _I can't… can't… hold on…_

A shout. The zing of weapons' fire.

Deda slumped, unconscious. She gasped as sight flooded back.

"Come on." Muska shattered the chains binding her wrists and ankles as his palm faded from brilliant purple to pale white. He took the box, but didn't seem to notice her stares, neither did he explain as he pulled her up with ease.

Every enemy lay on the floor. Some groaned, others lay still.

"Where's Sakania?" Dara whispered.

"I saw no women," said Muska as he grabbed his bag and led Dara into a dark corridor. He locked the men inside. "Thank you." He tucked the box under his arm. "If these contents came into Deda's possession… It could reshape the universe—bring the… End."

"End?"

"The end of days—the death of time—the Apocalypse, whatever you prefer to call it. The End will come, Daratina, sooner than you might like, but it will not be today."

"What _is_ in the box?" Dara said as she hurried after Muska.

"I cannot tell you," he said. "That knowledge would endanger your life."

The box's scratched lid seemed to call Dara as they scaled stairs and braved a tunnel maze. Still no signs of Sakania.

As they arrived at the compound entrance, Muska shoved Dara behind him and tucked them both into the darkest corner available. He closed a fist as his palm flickered orange.

An entourage marched into the compound, weapons ready. Twelve soldiers surrounded a tall, hooded man, but instead of stopping to check the area, the group descended the center stairs without pause.

Dara relaxed as Muska's hand faded white. "Your hand—what was–"

"Another time," Muska whispered as he led her outside.

A thick wood encompassed the entrance, so dense each tree bled into the next.

 _You couldn't even see this place from the air._ "Why an underground complex?" Dara followed Muska into the woods.

"I'm sure they had their reasons." He held a branch so Dara could pass.

Evening sun sifted through the boughs as a warm breeze rustled the wood. A few birds chirped, and small animals skittered to hide.

Dara took out her comm. "At least they left me this," she muttered. "My pack's probably still inside the rental. Wait. Why isn't the map working? Stupid satellites." She growled and shook the device. "It won't show me a thing."

"Jamming," Muska said. "This way." He led her farther into the trees.

"Where are we?"

"We'll know in a moment." Muska's footsteps quieted as they reached the tree line.

Desert stretched from one horizon to the other, broken only by a single mountain peak that jutted in the distance.

"We have to turn around." Dara started back.

"No. They'll be looking for us—once they realize we're gone. We must cross to the mountain."

"And how long will that take? We'll need water." She held up empty hands. "I don't have any—neither do you."

"I had some emergency water in my pack, but since I don't have it–"

"We won't need water," Muska said. "We'll cross in one night."

"One night? It's almost sunset. Even if we could do that, we'd have to leave now. I can't travel fast in sand."

"It will only take one night."

 _Wasn't his secrecy enough? Now he's crazy too._ "You're a lunatic… but–"

A far-off shout rang in the woods, answered by over twenty others.

"Let's go." Dara stepped into the sand but yelped as Muska swung her into secure arms and sprinted into the desert. "What're you–" Dara coughed.

"Do not speak. You will inhale sand."

 _Think I got that already._ She wiped her mouth on her sleeve and pulled her shirt over her face. _He can't run all the way to that mountain—not in one night, not in three. That's at least a four-day trip on foot through this sand._

Darkness eased over the desert, and Dara peered out of her shirt over Muska's shoulder. No more woods. Not even the top of the tallest tree crested the horizon. She covered her mouth and nose and squinted toward the mountain. _We must've covered a quarter of the distance already._

Stars glittered, and Muska's stride rattled less in the sand. Dara covered her eyes as a brisk wind swept the desert and spit sand at them. Some grit filtered down her collar and she sputtered it clear of her face.

Cold stung her hands as the night deepened, and she curled into Muska's arm to conserve warmth. _How is he so cold? He's not even sweating from the run._ Dara rubbed her hands together and tucked them under her arms.

Muska's even stride rocked Dara into a half-doze.

"There's a cave ahead," said Muska two hours before dawn. His steps clanked on rocky foothills, and Dara forced her head back through her collar.

Muska put her down, and they hurried into the cave.

"Should we start a fire, or–"

Muska held up a hand for silence. "Someone followed us," he whispered and shooed her further into the cave.

 _Followed? How?_ Dara readied her weapon and ducked behind a boulder as Muska found a place to hide five feet away.

Heavy footsteps rang in the cave, and Dara peeked out.

Darkness swallowed their stalker as wind swept into the cave mouth and threw sand into the stranger's path, so each step crunched. Ten feet from Dara's refuge, the intruder raised both hands. "I come with information."

 _Sakania!_ Dara swung around the boulder, weapon raised. "Why should we listen to anything you say?"

A little light at Sakania's waist flickered and cast her face in an eerie glow. "Because I have your ring." She dangled a chain. On it hung Goru's ring.

"That's just a trinket," said Dara. "It has no value."

"That might be true," Sakania said. "But perhaps you should ask your friend." She nodded to Muska who shuffled out of hiding. "He knows its true name."

Muska's solemn nod chilled Dara.

 _He knew there was more to this?_ "What do you want?"

"Take me with you to your next port of call."

 _What am I, an interstellar cabbie?_ "No. Absolutely not. You helped kidnap me."

"Ah, but I could have killed you." Sakania wagged a finger.

"If I take you along, you _will_ kill me.

Sakania snorted. "Not with the Keeper as your watchdog, little princess." She smirked. "Oh, yes. Deda may not have put the pieces together, but I did. I know you seek Aurelia, and the lost heir to her dark inheritance." Sakania's black and blue eyes sparked. "I know you're the one Gamilon mourned for so long. Yet, here you are, alive."

"Get to the point," Dara growled and shoved her weapon in Sakania's face.

"Take me with you, and I'll help you find your precious daughter." Sakania tossed a bundle at Dara's feet. "Here. I thought you might want it."

 _My pack._ Dara tucked a boot into one strap and hauled it closer, never taking her gaze from Sakania. _There must be something more to this. But what?_ "I'll take you with me as long as you're never out of sight of one of us."

"Fair." Sakania dangled the ring again. "Now, where did you find the second Telzarti shard?"

Dara snatched the chain from Sakania's loose grip. "None of your business." She slipped the ring from the chain and slid it onto her finger. The metal warmed at her touch.

Sakania shrugged. "All right, but I thought you might like to know what it's capable of. Perhaps it would be useful in… finding your daughter."

 _Could it?_ Dara twisted the ring. _No. She just wants free transport._ Each of the three stones set in the silver band tingled. _But, just maybe…_

Muska frowned but said nothing.

"What can it do?" Dara lowered the gun even with Sakania's chest instead of her face.

Sakania sat, legs crossed. The lamp at her waist surrounded her in a three-foot circle of light. "Sit," she said. "Let me tell you a story—the _true_ story of the one legend calls, 'The Diviner.'"

* * *

 **Author's Note:**

A bit of a shorter chapter this month. Next time, we're off to a new short story, "… Or Golden Days," featuring David Lysis, Masterson Talan, and Desslok. It will post on or before July 31st. Then, we'll head back to "Fortress of Evil" for Chapter 8: Ask Thee a Sign, posting on or before August 31st.

Thanks all.

Until next time, happy reading and writing,

dtill359


	9. Chapter 8: Once Upon a Time

**Chapter 8: Once Upon a Time**

Dara sat across from Sakania, wary, ready to move if the woman looked like she might pull a weapon. The lantern, now in Sakania's lap glowed in the dim cave and the soft drip of water coming from some far underground spring made Dara uneasy.

Muska sat next to Dara, silent. He clanked as he sat on the stone floor. _Why does he make that awful sound? What does he carry in his clothes? Metal plates?_

 _Suppose I don't have a choice but to listen to her now…_

Sakania held her lantern with both hands. "The tale of the Diviner begins over one hundred and twenty years ago. In a time when the planet Telezart was a great force in the universe—for research and scientific discovery. Then, Telzarti would try almost anything in the name of science, but there were still some who disagreed with what went on—especially in the genetic research centers.

"There was one geneticist, Holden Krom, who received a strange visit one day from a woman requesting – demanding – he engineer a child for her. He had no objections though other worlds had outlawed the practice before this woman came to him.

"Krom did as he was asked and made sure all the proper genetic coding was in place before producing and implanting the embryo."

Dara's heart fluttered. _Zordar's geneticists took Constance after she was conceived… Could this kind of research be the same as what they used to alter her?_

"The child was born in due time, but something had gone wrong with the coding, and the child, though a girl as the mother requested, was not born with the demanded fiery hair, and so the mother abandoned the newborn shortly after she turned six months old. She took the child to Krom and left her before promptly leaving Telezart, never to return.

"Krom adopted the child as his own and named her Trelaina. As she grew, she began to exhibit frightening powers. What Krom didn't know was when he engineered the girl, in his effort to grant her a longer lifespan, he'd triggered something else – something he didn't understand. The tampering gave the girl the ability to affect dark matter – something Telezart used often to fuel their expansive power needs.

"One day, when she was only five or six, Trelaina inadvertently triggered one of the power generators when she became upset about something. Krom didn't know what had happened, but he soon figured it out and knew he would have to take precautions. He built a special room for Trelaina in their home where the effects of her abilities would be muted enough to render them almost harmless. He gave her explicit instructions to never tell anyone about her gift.

"But the day came when others discovered her ability. When that happened, war rent Telezart in pieces. One faction wanted Trelaina for her military potential. Others wanted to see if she could be of use in the medical field – to help heal the wounded. And more factions sought to use her in other ways – none pleasant.

"In any war, there are always vultures – those who attend the dying so they may profit. This was no exception. When Telezart had nearly ripped itself apart, the Gatlanteans came. They saw the potential for profit and the opportunity to steal away the fabled Diviner – as she'd come to be commonly called by then.

"The Gatlanteans overran Telezart. They tried to take the world, but when they came for the Diviner, they found themselves outmatched. Terribly.

"In the years leading up to that final battle, Holden Krom enlisted help to forge three rings – the Telzarti shards. They were made to help Trelaina focus each of the three pieces of her innermost self – the mind, the will, and the emotions. Trelaina was just learning to use the shard of will when _Gatlantis_ , under the control of the current emperor's grandfather, came to take Telezart.

"The battle was soon over, the Gatlanteans slain, but they succeeded in taking the other two Telzarti shards, found in the rubble of Krom's dwelling.

"It's doubtful the Diviner knows the whereabouts of the other two shards, but it is no coincidence that you've come into possession of one. You must take it back to Telezart. The Diviner will need it.

"My kind have watched her ever since her emergence. This is vital to the survival of the universe, Daratina. You must go."

Dara sat stunned. "Hold it. You're telling me there's a woman living alone on some backwater planet who's over a hundred and twenty years old, and she needs this ring," Dara held up her hand with the shard on it, "to control her power? And you expect me to believe this?" She started to get up. Muska caught her arm.

"I know is sounds crazy," said Sakania. "But you possess the mind shard. It helps the wearer focus their thoughts and remember things forgotten. It is a powerful tool if in the right hands. The Diviner is a terrible being, but she is one who can be trusted. Please, Daratina, do not ignore this. You must go to Telezart. Give her back this lost piece of herself – of her father's love."

Dara couldn't get out of Muska's grip. "You believe all this?" she said to him.

Muska nodded.

"You're crazier than I thought," she muttered. "I have to find my daughter. She's in trouble, I can feel it. If I don't find her soon…"

"Then search along the way to Telezart," said Sakania.

Dara gritted her teeth and fingered the ring on her finger. It was warm to the touch, like a great cat sleeping by the fire. "That's in the other direction."

"So, it is." Sakania stood. Her lantern jangled and sent little shafts of light through the cave. "But haven't you considered you may be traveling in the wrong direction?"

"But—" Dara stopped short of revealing how she'd found Constance's trail and said instead, "A mother's instinct is seldom wrong."

"True," said Sakania as she started for the cave entrance. "But it can sometimes be diverted."

Muska followed Sakania, watching the strange woman's every step. Even if he was crazy, he hadn't proven dangerous. Yet. What was she doing bringing another stranger with her? _They're going to kill me in my sleep one night._ Dara hefted her pack, the warmth of the ring on her finger still there, a reminder of Sakania's story. After all, since she'd gotten the ring from Goru, she _had_ remembered things—known things she didn't think she could ever have remembered again. Maybe it _was_ true. And if it was… Maybe this Trelaina could use the shards to tell her where Constance was. Then she could skip this jaunt around the universe. "Do not leave the bridge without me for any reason. Muska will escort you to your room every time you want to sleep, and I'll lock you in myself."

Sakania led Dara and Muska to the little craft she'd flown in on. "That is acceptable."

"It better be. If you make me think for one second you're trying to do either of us harm, I'll space you."

Sakania laughed. "Quite the princess you turned out to be."

"I'm not a— Nevermind." Dara boarded the craft—little more than a flying sled. It floated two feet above the bare desert rock. When Muska stepped on, the whole thing dipped to one side, sending Dara grasping for one of the low rails.

"Easy." Sakania righted the sled. "Where did you leave your ship?"

Dara told her the coordinates, though as she said them, a knot grew in the pit of her stomach. Something was still very wrong, but she couldn't figure out just what it was.

* * *

They left orbit.

Sakania sat in the back of the sealed bridge, Dara at the helm.

"Just follow the course I gave you," said Sakania. "It will take you right to Telezart—the safe way. No dead space, no storms, just the stars."

"I think I'll double-check it anyway." Dara ran the course through her navigation computer. _Nothing. Either she's a really good liar, or she's telling the truth._ With another wary glance back at Sakania, she whispered to Muska, "Is this really the best way to get there?"

"I don't know," said Muska. "I've never been to Telezart.

 _Some help._ She set up for the first warp.

* * *

Three days passed without incident. Sakania obeyed every direction, slept in her locked room as ordered, and said little. Muska stood watch at her door every night, never seeming to sleep, but Dara didn't care. As long as he was awake enough to do his job, what did it matter?

As day four dawned an alarm woke Dara. "What in the universe—?" She threw on clothes and ran for the bridge, forgetting to unlock Sakania's room.

Muska already waited on the bridge. "Incoming fleet. Gatlanteans."

"We're getting out of here." Dara quickly plotted a new course, roundabout, but out of the path of the oncoming ships. "Safe route, she says," Dara muttered. "Right."

 _Toska_ skirted the oncoming fleet just in time. The fleet barreled out of warp, hundreds of ships, led by destroyers bigger and grander than anything Dara had ever seen during her time aboard _Gatlantis._

 _What is he doing?_ Dara studied the sensor data picked up from the passing fleet. _It looks like Zordar's waging an all-out war on someone._ She spotted the lead capitol ship. _Is that… Nasca's ship?_ She shivered at the memory of the man. He'd always had a wandering eye. She'd warned Zordar about him more than once, and the little snake had tried to persuade her into his bed at least twice when she first came to the worldship. "Once they're passed, we're getting out of here. Safe route or not, if Gatlantean fleets are using this route, we're going around."

Muska didn't argue.

The moment the fleet was gone, Dara sent _Toska_ along another route, one longer, but nowhere near this stretch of space.

A loud banging from Sakania's room grabbed Dara's attention and muffled curses melted through the walls.

 _Guess I should let her out._ Dara snorted and unlocked Sakania's door.

"You changed course. Why?" Sakania's eyes burned with anger. "I told you not to take any other route. This is the only safe way to get to Telezart."

"Did you not see the gigantic fleet that just went by?" Dara met Sakania's fire with a little of her own. "I'm not getting swept up in that."

"You have no idea what you've just done," Sakania growled. "You'll get us all killed going this way!"

"I can handle space storms," said Dara. "Gatlanteans are a little harder to deal with. And they have weapons."

Sakania's eyes turned strange, her face slacked as if she'd just seen a huge monster rise behind Dara. "They'll know…" she whispered. "They'll find us…"

"Who? Who's going to find us? The Gatlanteans? Not if we stay out of their way. They looked like they had other plans."

"Not the Gatlanteans. The Commune." Sakania said the last word as if it were a wild animal, about to devour her. "The Commune has long tried to stifle voices like mine. Like Muska's." She pointed toward the front of the bridge. "Without the mask of other ship signatures, we'll never avoid them. You've already been found once. The ship that attacked you on your way to Horesh—that was the Commune."

"The ones who kept saying something about a key. But weren't you with some of them back on that planet we just left a few days ago?" Dara stepped away from Sakania, suddenly very aware that this woman was far from safe.

"No." Sakania took her usual seat and fastened her harness without looking at Dara. "That was Deda. He is part of my people's military, sent to gather resources for our migration from our home. It is dying."

Muska turned his seat around and propped one elbow on his leg, resting his chin on his fist, listening.

"Both factions want the key, but for different reasons. And I… want it as well." Sakania's eyes fixed on Muska's box, still strapped to his back. "But the Keeper's reasons and mine are similar. I have no reason to try to steal it from you."

"What is this key?" Dara crossed her arms and looked at both Muska and Sakania like they were sparring three-year-olds. "One of you is going to tell me. Right now. Or I'll dump the both of you _and_ your box for the next Gatlantean ship to find."

Sakania and Muska looked at each other, then Dara.

Sakania spoke first. "It's—"

Muska held up a hand to stop her. "It's a list. Of names."

"I'm confused. What use would the Commune or Deda have for a list of names? Are these people who've betrayed them?" Dara said.

"I suppose in way that's true, but the list is far older than the Commune, or Deda," Sakania said. "It—"

"That's enough," said Muska. "It is knowledge that must remain lost to time until Yaaqovel* comes."

Dara shook her head. "That doesn't make any—"

"It makes sense to us," said Sakania. "And if the Keeper wishes it to remain secret… then I must honor his will in this."

"Who is Yaaqovel?"

"No one knows," said Sakania. "Many believe he will be a great king, one who will unite the wayward of the universe—my people included—and bring them home. But there are others who believe that tale is myth—the Commune among them. Deda believes it, but only insomuch that he wants to become that king himself, and he believes taking the key will enable him to do so. But the Keeper has blocked him at every turn."

"I thought that box was lost," said Dara. "If you just found it, how have you blocked this Deda character?"

Sakania and Muska looked at each other again for a moment before Muska said, "I knew where it was the whole time, but only when Deda's men got too close to it did I arrange to retrieve it—through you. Every time his people got close, I… arranged for them to be led in the wrong direction."

Dara looked from Sakania to Muska. "You two know each other."

Muska nodded. "She is… my sister."

Dara smacked Muska so hard the impact rang through the whole bridge. "You let her chain me up in some dark room and act like she was going to kill me. You let her take me to _Deda_! The man you say you're trying to avoid! I should lock you both in the garbage bay until I can dump you!"

Both looked ashamed.

"Speak up!"

"I am sorry…" Muska whispered. "Forgive me for deceiving you…"

"You're supposed to be some great Keeper—you claim to serve this great God, and yet everything you've said to me has been part of some elaborate scheme? What kind of Master do you serve?"

Muska looked as if he might weep. "One Who is far greater than I, Daratina… One Who's word I should have trusted."

"And what about you?" Dara leaned over Sakania.

"I serve my own ends," she said. "But I am sorry for the trouble I've caused you. I truly do believe the Diviner can help you find your daughter."

Dara pointed toward the back of the ship. "Both of you. Go to your quarters. I'll let you out when I feel like seeing your sorry faces again."

Sakania and Muska went without argument, like a couple of scolded pups.

As Dara locked Muska's door, she slid to the floor and covered her face to muffle sobs. Once again, someone she trusted had betrayed her. But maybe, just maybe, she was one step closer to finding Constance.

Dara wiped her eyes and got up. She returned to the bridge and kept a look out for anything that might signal trouble. If those two were telling the truth, getting out of the Gatlanteans' way might have put them in far more peril than before.

* * *

 **Chapter 8 Note:**

* Yaaqovel – name meaning "may God protect"

 **Author's Note:**

Wow. Long time no see here. It's been a long few months. Thankfully, now that my first original novel is almost done, I have some time to finish and post this. Next time, it's back to "Fortress of Evil" for episode nine, "Between the Cherubim."

Until then, happy reading.


End file.
